


Love, Lies & The Secrets We Keep

by LokiLover89



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Jaskier | Dandelion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, F/M, Fix-It, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Getting Together, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier is a god, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mentions of Jaskier with others, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Misunderstandings, Not Beta Read, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Requited Unrequited Love, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sorry Geralt, Yennefer is a powerful women, just a minor one though, small g
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiLover89/pseuds/LokiLover89
Summary: The air cracked with lightning, wind picking up and swirling around the room sending furniture screeching across the stone floor and slamming against the walls. Gritting his teeth Geralt tensed his body against the force, his hair whipping around his face. "YEN!" he called but his voice was lost in the howl of the wind. Her lips were moving as she mumbled her spell, her violet eyes glowing with the power coursing through her. Her arms were held out before her, palms facing up to the ceiling and bare arms covered in symbols painted on her skin in a vibrant blue. She looked beautiful and powerful as her long hair whipped around her.The wind picked up, lightening crashing into the ground at Geralt's feet, the sound ringing in his ears, the light so bright that he had no choice but to close his eyes. The room went still, unnaturally so and when he opened his eyes the raging storm had passed. In the middle of the protective circle stood a man, a God, his back to them but Geralt would recognize him anywhere. With a flourish of his hand the God turned but as soon as his eyes landed on Geralt his bright smile fell. "Fuck" he mumbled, looking less than impressed. Geralt stepped forward, eyes wide and disbelieving "Jaskier?"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 337





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> So this is my first dip into The Witcher fandom so please be gentle with me. This is a fix it fic because I didn't like how Jaskier just disappears after Geralt is such a dick to him in the TV show, so here I am trying to rectify that. The rating may change for this, I'm not really sure yet but what I can tell you is it should be about 4 or 5 chapters long. I'm aiming for 4.
> 
> Kudos and comments welcome and if you want come say hi over on Tumblr you can find me @YaimLight

Jaskier had a secret. A very well hidden secret that he had crafted a life round and no one seemed to notice the things he couldn’t quite control. Like the aging for instance. How anyone had failed to notice that he wasn’t getting any older was beyond him but people tender to see what they wanted to and as he was just a humble bard people tender to look right past him. Well except for those who saw him as the fine specimen he was but that was an entirely different matter.

Jaskier loved, well love and he loved the passions that came with it. He fell in love as easy as he fell into others beds and he fell just as quickly out of it. He seemed to inspire love and passion where ever he went, drawing attention to him with a flourish of his hand and a charming smile. Some might call he a talented flirt, a well practice rouge who seemed to know exactly how to charm his way into people’s hearts and consequently their beds. Jaskier would say it was his calling, his true gift to inspire love and lust be it with his songs or his charms and there had been many a soul who he had helped find love over the years, pointing them in the right direction when they had seemed completely and helplessly out of the depth. There were couples all over the continent that owed their happiness to Jaskier, not that anyone ever seemed to thank him for it. Honestly if he didn’t get so much joy out of it he might have considered stopping but we digress.

The point is that Jaskier inspired love and passion where ever he went and no one seemed to notice or care. Again, that was people for you, only seeing what they wanted and really he was okay with that. He didn’t need their thanks or praise. It would be nice to receive but it wasn’t a necessity and he would survive with the few days a year that celebrated his acts of kindness.

The problem was that he had spent almost twenty years traveling with the renowned white wolf, Geralt of bloody Rivia and oblivious bastard didn’t even notice once. He didn’t notice that Jaskier only had to look at someone to get their attention. Didn’t notice that Jaskier hadn’t aged a year since they met in that awful little tavern in Posada. Nor had he noticed that Jaskier could walk and walk for miles and miles without any discomfort, though he did like to complain to keep up the ruse. He had just started with it at the beginning and had got into such a habit of it that he had just filed to stop doing so. The same went with most things he did to keep up with appearances actually. He had been doing it so long it just became habit and he did it without really thinking about it now.

Geralt always complained about Jaskier’s lack of self-preservation, his lack of fear in certain circumstances that any mere mortal would have been pissing their britches. Honestly Jaskier had tried the first few times but it had become tiresome quickly and then he had gotten so lost in watching Geralt that it hadn’t occurred to him that he should be pretending to be worried about getting his throat ripped out by a Kikimore or drowner. It was difficult to fear death when you knew you couldn’t die.

There were a lot of things that Geralt should have noticed, should have made the Witcher stop and think about what was actually happening but he didn’t and at the time Jaskier hadn’t really thought anything of it. as had been previously mentioned, people (and yes Witchers were included in that) only saw what they wanted and Geralt had been very clear on the fact that he didn’t care enough about Jaskier to even notice he was there let alone he wasn’t acting the way a normal mortal would and that was fine. To start with at least.

Jaskier wasn’t exactly sure when he had fallen in love and considering who he was and what he did it was a little embarrassing to admit that. He had just looked up one day whilst he performing, his most dashing smile in place and the flush of a rooms worth of adoration colouring his cheeks, his corn blue eyes meeting amber ones. He had thrown a teasing wink the Witchers way and he had offered Jaskier a small smile in return, one that you would know even existed if you didn’t know what to look for, a fond look on his normally scowling face before he shook his head slightly and turned back to his ale.

Jaskier’s heart had soared in that moment, a feeling of elation sinking into him and had turned back to the crowed with a wide and satisfied smile and if that night the taverns occupants had been more rumbustious in their couplings then normal, well that was no one’s business apart from his. Jaskier had become acutely aware of how he felt about the normally sullen Witcher after that and he had revelled in it.

He had never been in love like that before and it was both terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Sure he had loved in the past. He naturally loved every one he took a fancy to and especially the ones he took to bed but this was different. Jaskier hadn’t minded so much that his affections were not returned in the same fashion his were and he didn’t change his habit of seeking out sexual partners though if he started to lean more towards men of a certain disposition then, well that was his prerogative. Nothing much changed between the two of them except for the fact Jaskier knew he loved Geralt deeply and unconditionally and he was content with that for a while.

Then all that shitty business with the djinn had happened and everything had changed and not for the better.

Geralt was lucky, Jaskier would say that at least in regards to his actions. If it had been anyone else the Witcher would have suddenly found himself with a body to burry but instead he had gotten Jaskier, chocking on his own blood and struggling to speak. He had felt the djinns magic working against him and it was all Jaskier had been able to do to push it back and keep the damage to a minimal. If he had known what was to come Jaskier would have tried harder to tell him to just leave him with the Elf but he hadn’t known and he had took a small bit of pleasure as knowing Geralt cared enough to fix it. Also he wanted him to suffer slightly at his careless wishing so he had allowed to whole charade to go on a lot longer than it probably needed. He had known the moment he had seen Yennefer that something was coming and it was now completely out of his control to prevent it.

Everything changed that day and Jaskier could feel a crack of sorts forming between him and Geralt every time destiny reared its annoying head. But alas destiny was not something he could fight, nor would he want to. She was beautiful and powerful women whose wrath was not to be invoked and he knew better than to try. So Jaskier could do nothing but watch as the fake bond between Yennefer and Geralt had grown, unable to do anything about the prospect of his love slipping through his fingers. 

It hadn’t been all bad though and when Yennefer wasn’t around it almost seemed normal. He could feel Geralt warm to him once more, that spark growing in his chest, yet every time Jaskier got his hopes up destiny would intervene and Yennefer would appear as if by magic and know her it really could have been. Jaskier didn’t actively hate her, just a strong dislike and a small spattering of jealousy every time Geralt ran to her, following the pull of their forced bond. In fact he thought that under different circumstances, very different circumstances, that he and she might have been able to call themselves friends. She was beautiful and elegant with that dark bitchyness that he found rather appealing. Things weren’t different though and Jaskier couldn’t help but dislike her a little bit more every time Geralt so much as spoke her name let alone laid eyes on her.

Jaskier was set to let destiny run its course though, content in the knowledge that he had time and could wait an age for Geralt. He lived life, carrying on as normal as if all was well. Even though he could feel something coming, the dark clouds of war on the horizon that would chase him and his purpose away for a time.

So he sung at every tavern they passed, on top of weddings and festivals as well as courts and keeps and Geralt continued to hunt the monsters of the world and between the two of them they earned enough coin to live comfortably. Though Geralt preferred to camp in the wilds Jaskier often managed to coax him into inns and to indulge in the finer things in life. He would lavish Geralt with attention, making it known that Jaskier was there to fore fill the other mans every request. And for once they both seemed happy, content in what they had in life and everything was good, for a time. Jaskier should have known it wouldn’t last.

He hadn’t been prepared for what happened on that god forsaken mountain. Hadn’t known it would hurt so much when destiny decided he was in the way and Geralt ripped his heart out. Jaskier had barely kept it together as he turned away from a seething Geralt, well aware that innocent people were on the mounting as well as Geralt himself and despite what he had just done Jaskier didn’t want to hurt him.

He had barely made it to an uninhabited part of the continent before he broke, collapsing to his knees in the middle of a dense forest, he clutched at his chest, his heart feeling like it was being ribbed in two. Jaskier hand clutched at his chest, gasping for breath he didn’t need as tears streamed down his face. As each one hit the ground below him the grass and plants died, the once lush green turning brown and shriveling. He hurt so much, a pain like he had never known before taking over him. How could he have been so wrong? Pulling in a shaky breath Jaskier had thrown his head back and screamed, letting his anguish run free. Trees fell, a mountain crumbled, the ground split, the sun disappeared behind dark clouds as rain began to pour from the heavens and all around him the forest died, falling victim to his suffering. His pain was felt like a wave, reaching for hundreds of miles and bring people to their knees with a grief that left them feeling broken.

Jaskier didn’t know how long he stayed in the middle of all the destruction he had caused. It could have been but moments, even just a handful of hours or days or it could have been months, years even but eventually he moved, pushing himself to his feet. He felt numb, like everything had been drained from him and leaving nothing more than a husk behind. He didn’t know what to do, had devoted the last twenty years to man who hated him, had built his life here around him and now that was gone, he was gone. There was nothing left for him here, no reason to stay among the mortals so Jaskier had gone home, leaving nothing behind but the destruction he had caused as proof he had even been there.

And there Jaskier had stayed, numb to all the pleasures he had used to live for. He stayed shut away in his corner of paradise, watching over golden rivers and sing songs of pain and loss. Others tried to cheer his spirits, destiny had even come knocking to beg for his forgiveness but he bared the door, refused to talk and wallowed in his pain, letting it consume him for a time until one day he had had enough. Geralt had broken his heart but Jaskier would not let him break his soul, his essence.

Jaskier didn’t know how much time had passed and though his heart still felt like it had been cleaved in two he tried to carry on with his duties though with war now ragging through the continent love and lust were the last things needed. Jaskier turned his gaze away, to other lands and other lovers, letting destiny take its course and he tried to put Geralt of Rivia out of his mind though the man’s presence annoying stayed at the back of his mind, reminding Jaskier at the oddest times about all the things he had loved about the Witcher and the good times they had had together, though normally they were often chased off by the look of pure anger and hate in his golden eyes rather quickly.

Jaskier loved, deeply and passionately and that had been no different with Geralt, had been ten times stronger actually and he knew that his feelings for the man would stay with him for eons. It was part of him now, along with the heartbreak and Jaskier was okay with that, not happy but okay and he would have spent the rest of existence like but then some bright spark had gotten it into their head to summon him and he found himself faced with the cause of all his problems centuries before he was ready for it and Jaskier really didn’t know what to do.

Destiny must really hate him or she was trying to fix what she had broken. Either way he would rather she didn’t. Fuck. What was he supposed to do now?


	2. Part 2

Geralt was an idiot and that was putting it lightly. He had done a lot of things wrong over his life time, things he was not proud of, ashamed of even but he had carried on regardless, shoving everything down until he almost forgot about it. He couldn’t do that this time.

He had been cruel and vicious, ripping into the bard like everything wrong in the world was his fault when all Jaskier had ever truly done wrong was put his faith and trust in Geralt. He had been able to smell it, the sadness and pain that had rolled off of Jaskier in sharp and bitting waves, his normally sweet and floral sent turning bitter and acrid with the saltiness of unshed tears clinging to it. He had felt guilty the moment he said those things but had been angry, his rage longing for an outlet and Jaskier had been the only one stupid enough to approach him because they were fucking friends and Jaskier had only wanted to help.

By the time he had calmed down enough to realise what he had done the sun was already setting, the cold drawing in. Geralt had gone after him, following his scent back through the camp. He had found all of Jaskier’s belongs still there, bed roll laid out, bag of stupidly expensive clothes next to it and more importantly his lute. Geralt knew that he wouldn’t have gone far without it so he assumed he was trying to secure safe passage down the mountain with someone else. An oddly sensibly thing for Jaskier to do but unneeded, Geralt would apologise for his outburst and the two of them could then head back down together. So he had continued to follow Jaskier’s sad and bitter scent, hoping that he didn’t find him cry because Geralt didn’t know how to deal with those kinds of emotions and would probably end up making things worse. He had followed it into the trees, just past the boundary of the forest were the camp was no longer visible and then suddenly it was gone. Jaskier was gone.

Confused and worried Geralt had retraced his steps, searching around the area for any signs of where the bard had gone but he couldn’t find any. There were no tracks, no other scents of wild animals or monsters, not even the other members of the hunting party. Geralt had started to panic then. He had asked all who were left on the mountain if anyone had seen the bard but no one had and the panic had just gotten worse.

He had quickly packed up everything, clutching the lute like a life line and unable to see a reason why Jaskier would leave it behind willingly. Something must have happened, it had to of and as Geralt made his way down the mountain, moving quickly and with a fear in his heart his mind supplied all the possible things that could have befallen the frail and breakable human. Amongst the chaos of his fears though Geralt had one small glimmer of hope. Yennefer.

Both she and Jaskier probably hated him now, well Yennefer certainly did and there was a small hope that she would take mercy on Jaskier, another soul that Geralt had touched and left blackened by his presence. He hoped that she had opened a portal, taking Jaskier safely away from Geralt and out of any harms way. He hadn’t smelt her, nor the distinctive crackle of magic but he could hope, even if it was unlikely.

Geralt had looked for him, asking in every town and village if he had been seen, been heard but the answer he got was always the same. It was like Jaskier had dropped off the face of the continent and a dark part of him worried that somehow he had willed his angry and unfounded words into existence, that life had taken Jaskier off his hands. Out of options and growing desperate Geralt had gone to one of two places Jaskier might have sought refuge.

Lettenhove was not what he had hoped it would be. When he had arrived and asked to see Julian, stumbling over the bard’s formal title he had been meet with resistance but after explaining he meant no harm and was a friend of the young lord the servant had reluctantly gone to get him, making Geralt wait impatiently in the entrance hall. There had been a great sense of relief at knowing Jaskier was safe, that he had made it home and though Geralt would scold him latter for making him worry the first thing he planned to do was pull the other man into a hug and breath in his familiar scent.

That relief had been short lived.

The man that had been brought before him was not Jaskier, wasn’t even close. He looked old, wrinkles around his dulled brown eyes, his hair short and greying, brushed back and slick with oil. He was thin, sickly, Geralt could smell it on him. The lord had seemed to recognise the look in Geralt eyes and had taken pity on him, leading the way slowly into a parlour as he leaned heavily on a highly decorated walking stick. Geralt had followed dumbly, sitting on a plush sofa that he was surely going to be ruin with the weeks’ worth of dirt and viscera that clung to his clothing. The lord had sat opposite, telling Geralt everything in soft and calming tones and he had listened to every word.

Jaskier had lied to him.

The Viscount was ill, had been ever since he was a child and as a result had been confined to his home, unable to see the world he longed to be part of. His youth had been a bitter time, that was until a charming travelling bard had turned up to perform at a party and changed everything. He was young and carefree, handsome to boot and was the first person to treat the young lord like an actual person. Geralt was told it had been a rather passionate love affair, though thankfully he had been spared any detail outside of being told that Jaskier was an amazing lover in every sense of the word. When Jaskier had left a few weeks latter the Viscount had given the bard money and his name, asking him to use it to live out all the adventures the young lord wished to have and Jaskier had, taking on the role of a devilish rogue Viscount travelling the continent in search of love and adventure.

He told Geralt that sometimes Jaskier would come by, sing him songs and tell him every sordid detail of his life as they fell into bed. Sometimes though he would receive gifts and letters instead, small trinkets to go along with rather fanciful stories. But it had been almost five years since he had heard from the bard last and he could not offer Geralt any information of his whereabouts other than Oxenfurt because it actually had been Jaskier who studied there.

The Viscount had offered Geralt a bed for the night but he had refused, thanking the lord for his help and quickly making his escape. Jaskier had lied to him and it hurt. He had always felt the bard to be a little excessive when it came to the truth, twisting and turning events to suit his songs and lifestyle but he had believed that when push came to shove Jaskier was always honest with him, trusted him but clearly he had been wrong. He didn’t even know the bards true name or even where he came from and if Jaskier had lied about that what else had he lied to Geralt about?

Suddenly he felt like he didn’t know the man at all, that he had been chasing a stranger from one end of the continent to the other and for what? Jaskier didn’t care enough to even trust Geralt with his name so why was he trying so hard to fix a relationship that was built on crumbling foundations? He knew why, had been stomping down on it for years now because Jaskier was human, fragile, breakable. It had been easy to direct all his affections and attention towards Yennefer because she was not any of those things. It hadn’t been real with her though, that stupid djinn wish forcing them together but it had been easy to give into its pull and make what they had into something it wasn’t. Geralt did love her but not the way either of them had hopped for.

Oxenfurt had been just as disappointing, the bard having been absent for almost two years. Geralt had managed to get access to his rooms though. It had taken an annoyingly large amount of coin and a promise that he didn’t want to hurt Jaskier, just find him because he was concerned but eventually he had been allowed in. There was a thin layer of dust across everything, expensive silk clothes left draped over the bed and chair like the occupant had meant to come back. There was sheet music littered across every flat surface and odd musical instruments propped against walls and cabinets. It looked like an utter mess and Geralt was struck by how very Jaskier the room was. The bard would call it organised chaos, Jaskier knowing where everything was without having to look.

Geralt had known as soon as he walked into the room that Jaskier hadn’t been there for a while, his sweet scent of sunshine and flowers all but faded but still he entered, closing the door behind him and trapping himself inside a space that was purely the bards. Geralt had come to Oxenfurt a few times with Jaskier but never had he been inside his rooms. It felt wrong to be here now uninvited, especially as the bard had never wanted him there before.

Geralt had meticulously searched everything for a clue as to where Jaskier might have gone, making sure to put everything back in the exact same place he had gotten it from. He didn’t find anything that could tell him where the bard might go but what he did find were letters. Hundreds of them, tucked away in the bottom of a trunk and wrapped in bundles with fine silk ribbon. They were all addressed to Jaskier, sent over the last twenty or so years and all spoke of one thing. Jaskier.

Geralt always knew that people loved Jaskier, flocked to him and his charms but he had never really stopped to take count, to notice how many there had actually been over the years. Every letter spoke of their love for the bard and his talents, each and every one longing to have him back in their lives, their beds. Some promised him marriage, some vast estates and titles, whilst others offered money and jewels, fine silks and even finer luxuries. People wanted Jaskier, wanted to give him a life of luxury so he would never have want for anything, all Geralt could offer him was cold back roads and monsters, the occasional inn and a threat of pain and death. Geralt could give him nothing of the life he surely wanted, the life he deserved but still Jaskier had stayed, turning away from those who wished to treat him like a king, a God amongst men. Why would he ever chose Geralt over any of those people? He got his answer not moments latter when he found a simple faded envelope sticking out from under his dresser.

It was a love letter but not for Jaskier, no this one was for Geralt. He would recognise the bards’ hand writing anywhere, the smooth and artful sweeps of his pen as it glided across the page. Geralt had read it, then read it again and again and again, his heart tightening with every word. Jaskier loved him, had loved him. Jaskier had loved him deeply and uncaring of any and all of Geralt’s faults. He had loved his surly attitude, his lack of words and his ability to scare people just by looking at them. He had loved his scars and his hands that had killed so many. He likened his hair to spun silk, shimmering like silver and stars. He had compared his eyes to precious gems, bright and sparkling and full. Pages of everything he felt for Geralt, pouring his devotion and desires down onto the pages believing that Geralt would never see it and would never return the sentiment. Geralt had learned that day how much of a fool he truly had been.

He gave himself one night, crawling into Jaskier’s bed and breathing in the faded scent that still clung to his pillows. Geralt had given himself one night to pretend, to believe that things had gone differently and he was simply waiting here for the bard to return from a lecture or concert. One night to pretend that he himself had been strong enough to return the bards feelings and that he was still here with him. Just one night to imagine the things that would happen if he had opened his arms and his heart and Jaskier had sunk into his embrace like he belonged there. Just one night.

The next morning Geralt had brought all of Jaskier’s things up, storing them away safely but he had been unable to part with the lute. Where ever Jaskier was Geralt was sure he would be grateful that he was able to return it to the bard when he finally found him, a peace offering of sorts. So he had kept it with him along with Jaskier’s letter to him, storing them safely in Roaches saddle bags and he had set out to continue his search, more determined to find the bard now more than ever. He had so much to make up for, to apologise for and Geralt would make sure to spend however long Jaskier would grant him begging for his forgiveness.

Destiny had other ideas though.

Finding Ciri, the battle at Sodden Hill, it all happened so fast and Geralt had found himself with an army nipping at his heals and a child to protect. He had found Yennefer not far from the battle grounds, weak and unconscious. He couldn’t leave her there so he had taken her with them, finding somewhere defensible so he and Ciri could nurse her back to health. It had had taken a couple of days before she was strong enough to move and Geralt had allowed her and Ciri to ride on Roach whilst he walked alongside, alert and ready to defend them both if the need arose.

Together the three of them made their way to Kaer Morhen and at some point along the way he and Yennefer started to mend their broken relationship, not as lovers but as friends. She agreed to come with them, smitten with Ciri from the moment she was first introduced to the princess. Yennefer would teach her how to control her magic whilst Geralt would teach her the ways of a Witcher. He got a second horse, one for Yennefer and Ciri to use and for a time things seemed to be going well.

Geralt had managed to ask Yennefer about Jaskier after a week and he was sure she wouldn’t try and hex him. She had been confused at his question and his stomach had sunk at the realisation that the small bit of hope he had been carrying with him was gone. Yen hadn’t helped Jaskier but someone must of for him to just vanish like that, the only alternative was that someone or something had taken him and Geralt couldn’t stomach the thought that Jaskier might be truly gone.

When Yennefer was feeling stronger he had asked her to find him, reluctantly handing over the lute when she asked for something of his. Her attempts had been unsuccessful, the small crystal she had been using to try and find his locating just spinning frantically on its string, getting faster and faster till the string snapped and the crystal flew through the air, ending up imbedded in a tree. Yennefer had looked at him with a sadness in her eyes, her words full of pity as she told him that maybe the bard just didn’t want to be found and he should respect that, after all it was him who had done the breaking and Jaskier probably needed time to heal.

So they had pushed forward to Kaer Morhen, winter settling around them. It was a long journey and by the time they made it up the treacherous path all three of them had been tired and cold. Introductions had been brief, Geralt promising to explain everything latter after they had all rested. Rooms were found for Yennefer and Ciri and Geralt settled back into his room with a heavy heart and eased shoulders. Jaskier’s lute was propped on the chair in the corner and his letter placed on the table next to Geralt’s bed, the pages dog eared from how many times he had read it over the last few months. That night Geralt slept better than he had for a long time but even in his dream he couldn’t escape cornflower blue eyes and the smell of heartbreak.

Ciri and Yen settled into life at Kaer Morhen quickly and despite some suspicion at the beginning his brothers and Vesemir soon warmed up to them. A routine was made, everyone sharing in Ciri’s training and she was coming along nicely. Everyone seemed happy, even Yennefer who had finally gotten a child even if it wasn’t the way she had hoped and by rights Geralt should be happy as well but his heart ached, his entire being longing for something, someone he had lost.

He had never brought Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, not wanting to make himself vulnerable in such an obvious way but now he wished he had. Jaskier would have liked it here, probably would have found some overly fancy words to describe it. He would have gotten on with his brothers, would maybe have annoyed Vesemir to start with but he was sure the older Witcher would warm up to him, just like everyone else did. Next year he promised himself. He would find Jaskier and apologise and then he would never let him go again. He would take the bard with him everywhere and introduce his proudly to his family as his friend, his lover even just a simple companion. Whatever way Jaskier would allow Geralt to have him, he just wanted him back, next to him, where he belonged.

So Geralt had asked Yennefer to try again and after they had gotten the same results as last time Geralt had pushed for her to try again and again. She had gotten angry at him, yelling at him about fixing his own problems but she had still agreed to help, taking to the library in hopes to find something that could help pin the bard down through whatever magic was keeping him hidden.

It was during this time she found the book on djinn’s and there wishes. She had gotten it into her head that maybe she would be able to find something that could break their bond and who was Geralt to deny her her freedom from him. Yennefer got frustrated easily when the books had turned up nothing that could help her break their bond, unhelpfully suggesting that only a God had power enough to break such a thing. Yennefer had just about resigned herself to the fact that she would never be rid of it and then Lambert had gone and opened his big mouth.

“Why not just ask one” he had said with a laugh, thinking himself so funny and Geralt had promptly told him to shut up but not Yennefer. No, that had seemed to spark something and she had run back off to the library on the trail of a new idea. Geralt should have known what she was up to but he hadn’t thought her so desperate to be rid of him. He should have known everything wouldn’t be so simple but as they stood in the middle of the great hall, about to summon a God, Geralt had had another small slither of hope that maybe, just maybe he would be able to fix something he had broken and give Yennefer back her freedom.

Turned out that he should never hope for anything because it only ever brings more pain in the end.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a lot longer then it should have. I actually got almost all the way to the end and then decided I hated it and started again so, here's hoping you guys enjoy it.

Geralt hadn’t been ready for it, nothing seeming to happen at first but then a breeze blew through the hall, carrying with it the sweet smell of summer and wildflowers and the familiar scent had felt like a punch in the gut. A low rumble had echoed around the room, dark clouds forming high above them. The smell of ozone thickened, the air crackling with electricity just like it did before a storm. That had been the only warning they got.

Lightening cut across the hall with a loud crack, the ever darkening clouds rumbling as the wind picked up. Yennefer had stood in the middle of it all, the storm raging around her as it ripped furniture up and slammed it against the walls, wood splintering and stone cracking as lightning struck again and again. She didn’t seem to notice though, her chanting getting lost in the howl of the wind and painted symbols glowing on her skin. Geralt had thought her beautiful and terrifying, violet eyes glowing with the power of the spell she weaved.

He had tried to call out to her, the very ground they stood on trembling and cracking but she remained lost to him, head held high and arms stretched wide, palms facing the sky and calling the Gods to her as blood streamed from her eyes and nose. Rain pelted down on them icy and cold and feeling like shards of ice digging into his exposed skin. This wasn’t supposed to happen, Geralt knew that much. They had been so sure of what would happen, how summoning a God of lust and love would be all sunshine and flowers but this was not that. Something was wrong, the God resisting the pull and if they didn’t stop soon Geralt was sure the keep would come crumbling down around them, their bodies buried underneath. 

His worry spiked as a bolt of lightning struck the stone at his feet as he tried to take a step towards her, shoulders hunched to brace against the wind that seemed to be trying to keep him back. The heat had been searing, his skin burning as he turned away and screwed his eyes shut against the blinding light. The wind roared like a scream of pain, the rain now shards of ice, sharp and jagged as they cut in Geralt’s skin. The mountain groaned, the ground shifting and the nothing.

As suddenly as it had all started the room fell silent, the raging storm gone and nothing more than a gentle breeze that carried with it the sweet smell of summer and wildflowers once more.

Geralt hadn’t been ready for it when he snapped his eyes open, his gaze quickly returning to Yen and hand already reaching for his sword. The God faced away from them, the gentle glow of the containment circle pulsing as it kept all that power caged inside. Geralt knew that outline though, would recognise that posture and soft brown hair anywhere but that couldn’t be right, refused to believe what his eyes perceived.

The man had sighed, rolling his shoulders and standing taller, like he was readying for a fight. With a flourish of his hand the man spun on his toes to face them, an effortless grace about him that Geralt had bared witness to on multiple occasions and admired often. His bright eyed dimmed as soon as he saw Geralt, his smile twisting into a frown. “Fuck” he mumbled, breaking the silence that had fallen over the hall.

“Jaskier?” Geralt hated how hopeful his gruff voice had sounded, the name feeling heavy on his tongue after going so long without saying it. He refused to believe it was real, that Jaskier was real even though he could feel it, the certainty that this was his bard stood before him. It had to be a trick, a punishment from a God who they had angered. It couldn’t be him. Geralt did not have the good fortune to suddenly find himself with the thing he longed for the most.

It had to be though, the bards scent so familiar at this point that Geralt would have been able to pick him out of a thousand men, even if it was slightly bitter with anger like it was now. His heart ached as he stared at the other man, longing to reach out and touch him, make sure he was real and tangible. Geralt had never wanted to touch any one as much as he wanted to feel Jaskier in that moment, the desire to do so almost frightening if he hadn’t been longing to do just that for months.

“This is perfect. Brilliant. Exactly wat I need right now”. Jaskier’s annoyance was clear, hand pressed over his eyes and fingers rubbing at his temple as he gestured towards Geralt. He looked so wrong, face twisted in a way that suggested pain and the desire to go to the bard became too much, Geralt taking a step towards him and reaching out but Yen stopped him, pulling him back and shaking her head as she watched Jaskier with suspicion.

He was Jaskier though, Geralt so sure of the fact because never did he feel like this with another. He felt right, whole, like he was home and that was only ever Jaskier that made him feel like that. He felt calmer, his sharp edges dulling and the tension and worry he had been carry on his shoulders since that forsaken mountain easing. It was Jaskier stood before them but why? They had summoned a God not a bard.

“As fun as this little reunion sounds I was actually in the middle of something so if you wouldn’t mind getting to the point of why I am in this hovel so I can leave it would be greatly appreciated”. The bards words were cold and jarring and for the first time since the man appeared before them Geralt had truly looked at him and he didn’t like what he found.

After all the years they had spent together Geralt knew what Jaskier looked like in almost every situation he could get himself in, knew what his current state meant. His doublet was open, under shirt unlaced and exposing his hair covered chest. It was untucked from his breeches, boots missing and feet bare, his hair ruffled and red smears across his lips and neck. There was no mistaking what they had pulled the bard from and it left an uncomfortable feeling in his chest and gut, twisting and burning.

It had hurt more than he had been prepared for, the realisation that Jaskier had still been bedding others whilst Geralt pined after his missing bard like an abandoned dog. All at once he was jealous, angry and guilty. A rage burning inside of him that others had touched what they had no right to put their hands on whilst also feeling guilty for his unwarranted and unwelcome possessiveness.

He didn’t have a right to feel anything other than acceptance of the fact that Jaskier had took a lover or even lovers knowing the bards past dalliances. They hadn’t been anything other than friends before the mountain, not that Geralt had ever admitted they were even that. He had no claim over the man, had no right to feel jealous and angry if Jaskier had found others to keep him company. He had brought this on himself and maybe this was his true punishment, knowing the bard had moved on, that Jaskier had tossed Geralt aside as easy as he had the bard. Geralt couldn’t blame him for moving on, for finding another when all Geralt had ever done was treat him like shit.

Geralt felt almost numb at the realisation that Jaskier had possibly taken a God as a lover but it also made sense, how he had ended up here and hidden from Geralt for so long. Jaskier drew people to him, gaining their love and attention quickly so it seemed right that a God who thrived of lust and love would take an interest in the bard. At least he would be safe whilst in the arms of a God, not wanting for anything whilst he held the God’s affections and kept away from the war the raged across the continent. It was more than Geralt would have ever been able to give him and Jaskier deserved only the best after the shit Geralt had put him through. Deserved more than Geralt.

Yennefer had been angry and suspicious, demanding to know why Jaskier was there and the bard had responded with a bored and put upon sigh. “You summoned me here witch”. Jaskier had seemed so cold, staring at Yen like she was an idiot. It was strange, though Jaskier had never hid his dislike of the sorcerous he had never been so confident in the face of her power. Normally there would be a side of caution to his barbs but not now, if anything it had been Yennefer who seemed to be treading carefully.

“We meant to summon a God”. Jaskier had deserved an explanation for why he was suddenly here and Geralt had hoped to get a laugh from the bard, a quick quip about him being mistaken for a God but all he had done was look at Geralt expectantly, blinking slowly as if waiting for something more. “Not you”. He had regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth, the words sounding harsh and unwelcoming when that wasn’t the case. Why was it whenever it came to Jaskier he always seemed to make things worse, to be cruel and mean for no reason other than he could. Jaskier had been the first human to treat Geralt like a man and all he seemed to be able to offer in return was the harsh and cold monster he had been forged into at a young age.

“Oh for the love of…really? I swear dumb as a box of rocks. Honestly how you haven’t gotten killed is beyond me” Jaskier rambled, words harsh and throwing his hands up in the air. Behind him Geralt had heard Lambert laugh followed by the sound of what he expected was Lambert getting hit in the arm by Eskel. Jaskier’s ire was warranted though, Geralt had been expecting it but apparently he hadn’t been ready for it, the bards’ harsh and rude words cutting like a knife. Each one another little nick against his skin, another shard of ice in his heart.

Geralt had though Jaskier was angry about their mistake in the summoning, reasonable considering there was a God suddenly missing a bed mate. He knew he should ask Yen to open a portal, to send Jaskier on his way and back to his lover before a God’s wrath rained down on them but he was selfish, soaking in the bard like it would be the last thing he would see before death took him. He would miss Jaskier when he was gone, would probably never see the bard again and he wanted desperately to prolong that for just a moment longer.

Geralt had thought a lot of things, made a lot of assumptions about the bard but there had been one thing that had never crossed his mind, the obvious thing that he just didn’t grasp. Jaskier had huffed, rolling his eyes before sinking down into a low and exaggerated bow that was fit for a court and not three Witcher’s and a sorcerous. “Eros, God of love and lust at your service”.

In that moment it had felt like the world stopped, the very mountain falling out from under him. The silence stretched on, so quiet that Geralt could hear Roach moving in the stables. Then Yennefer was laughing, Jaskier standing up straighter and looking at the sorcerous with disapproval. He tried to get her to shut up, seeing the rage in Jaskier’s eyes grow but she just kept waving him of. She called it a load of horse shit, wanted to know how hard Jaskier had hit his head to think that they would believe his scrawny and useless ass was anything other than a pathetic, fragile, little human.

The air cracked, Jaskier’s eyes glowing and Yen had cried out in pain, her knees giving out as the symbols painted on her skin glowed as brightly as the bards’ eyes. Geralt was on her in a matter of seconds, sinking to his knees and pulling Yennefer against him as she seemed to gasp for breath. Behind him Geralt could hear Lambert and Eskel draw their weapons, advancing on Jaskier. “That’s enough Jaskier!” Geralt had cried, afraid for Yen but also Jaskier. He wouldn’t be able to pick a side if his brothers picked a fight with the bard, the God.

Jaskier had looked apologetic as the hold he had on Yennefer seemed to vanish, waving his hand dismissively as he turned away from them. Yennefer glared at his back as Geralt helped her to her feet, rubbing at her neck. Everyone was tense again, looking at Jaskier like he was something to be feared and now Geralt was realising that after all this time Jaskier hadn’t been the one in danger of getting hurt traveling with him but it was actually the other way round.

Geralt had been monstrous towards the bard, the fucking God and yet here he stood, head still firmly attached to his shoulders. Suddenly so many things that Geralt had brushed off as inconsequential or simply Jaskier being, well, Jaskier, a little odd and strangely lucky made more sense now. How had he been so blind, so fucking stupid? Two decades and he hadn’t known, hadn’t even suspected that he was traveling with anything other than a human.

Jaskier had lied to him, Geralt knew that but now it was clear just how much had been kept from him.

“Why am I here?” Jaskier sounded so tired when he spoke, the world seeming a little duller as clouds passed in front of the winter sun and when he had turned to look at them he had seemed tired, his eyes showing a life that had been long and weary. Geralt still wanted to apologise, still wanted to fall to his knees and take back everything he had said that day on the mountain as well as so much more. Jaskier being a God didn’t changes that but now wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the reason he was here but maybe afterwards he would give Geralt some time to get his words out.

“We need your help” Jaskier had scoffed at him. “Having trouble getting it up Witcher”. Geralt scowled at him, not appreciating the snark nor the way Lambert tried to cover up his laugh with a cough. “The djinn wish, brake it” Yennefer demanded of him, angry and Geralt couldn’t blame her, not really. All these years Jaskier could have freed them from this. All those years he glared at Yennefer as if everything was her fault when he had had the power and means all along to set bother Geralt and her free but he hadn’t. He had claimed to love Geralt but he knew nothing would come of that with Yennefer bound to him in such a way yet he had left the wish intact, letting destiny rip through their lives like it was nothing.

“No”. Geralt had felt that one word like a dagger in his heart, sharp and twisting. No, Jaskier wouldn’t help, why would he? He hadn’t before and he wouldn’t now. Maybe it hadn’t been love after all, maybe Geralt and his shit stain of a life had just been a game to him, a light form of entertainment to break up the dull drag of eternity. Geralt didn’t mean anything to him, not really. He had been right all along, God’s didn’t give a shit about humans and their affairs and they certainly didn’t care about Witcher’s.

Yen had screamed blue bloody murder, demanding to know why he wouldn’t do it, throwing around accusations that only seemed to annoy Jaskier more. He owed it to them she had said and the bard had actually laughed at that, a bitter and harsh sound. Geralt had winced at that, so unused to that kind of sound coming from the normally optimistic and bright man. Had that been a lie as well? Did Geralt even know anything about Jaskier at all?

He could smell the anger in the room, both Yennefer’s and Jaskier’s. Angry at each other, the situation they were in, at Geralt himself. So much anger but underneath it was summer and wildflowers tainted with sadness and heartbreak. “Please Jaskier” he had asked quietly, weakly, looking up at the bard and holding his gaze even though it hurt to see that anger and pain directed at him. It was what Geralt had expected though, when he was to finally meet the bard again. He had just thought he would be begging for something else instead.

“Why should I? Why should I do anything for you anymore? You asked for one blessing and I granted you it, why should your incapability to stick to your own demands sway my hand in your favour Witcher?” Jaskier spoke the truth, Geralt never having given him a reason in all the years they were together to give him anything, yet he had. Jaskier had given him everything he had asked for including his absence and yet here Geralt was, asking for more and once again not offering anything up in return. God’s demanded sacrifices did they not? So what would he be willing to offer in exchange for the bards favour? 

It was a horrible decision, one that he knew Eskel and Lambert would rip into him for latter but this was Jaskier and Geralt would give him everything he could given half the chance. Eskel tried to caution him against it, Lambert called him a bloody idiot but Jaskier looked at him and only him, blue eyes solely focused on Geralt as he laid down his swords and stripped off his armour, took off his medallion and placed it on the floor until he stood before Jaskier as just a man.

He didn’t second guessed sinking down to one knee, head hanging forward and one arm braced against his bent knee. “Please” he had asked again, pleaded. It was easier not to look at Jaskier, to close his eyes and focus only on Jaskier’s smell, his breathing, the steady beat of his heart. It was easier to promise the things he should have given to Jaskier years ago but had been too afraid to offer. It was easier not to look so he didn’t have to see the disgust, the wicked amusement, the pity that would surely cross the God’s face at such an ugly and monstrous creature promising things he had no right to offer.

His swords, his loyalty, his fidelity, his body, his heart. Everything he was he would gladly give to Jaskier, become whatever the God demanded of him. A friend, a sacrifice, a disciple. Whatever Jaskier would offer him he would take because even if he didn’t truly love Geralt, he still loved the bard, was still one of those foolish admirers that had sought to tether Jaskier to them with earthly means. Except he was worse because he had already discarded Jaskier’s affections, had never gotten to know the pleasure of his skin yet he was willing to give himself over to a God who by all rights he knew nothing off just in the hopes of keeping Jaskier close. He really was pathetic.

Jaskier hadn’t seemed too happy with Geralt’s pledge, demanding he get up with an angry hiss. His heart had sunk, sure that he would deny them once more and be gone, leaving Geralt to lick his wounds in the face of Jaskier’s rejection. He hadn’t wanted him, not even as a plaything. He had missed whatever chance he had had. Jaskier didn’t want him anymore.

“Fine” he had snarled, turning angry blue eyes to Yennefer. “You’ll help us?” Jaskier had ignored him, eyes never leaving Yen and they seemed to have a silent conversation before she stepped forward and scuffed her foot along the chalk outline of the containment circle, the thing crackling and popping before fizzling out. The room felt heavy once more, Yennefer and Jaskier staring at one another and Geralt unsure how to proceed. Did Jaskier’s help mean he had accepted Geralt’s offering of himself as payment?

Eventually Lambert had been the one to break the silence, stating he would go and tell Vesemir that they would have a guest. It was the wrong thing to do, Jaskier’s gaze getting colder as he glared at Lambert, the younger Witcher struck still under the force of it. “I said I would help and I will but I’m not staying here” the ‘with you’ was left unsaid but Geralt could hear it as clear as day, Jaskier’s words biting and leaving no room for argument.

Turning his cold blue gaze back to Yennefer Jaskier talked directly to her, ignoring everyone else and waving his hand between her and Geralt though he wouldn’t meet his gaze and somehow that hurt even more. “I will return when I have some idea of how to proceed”. Jaskier didn’t say good bye. The room rumbling with thunder, a sharp and bright bolt of lightning cracking through the air and then he was simply gone and Geralt was left behind once more.

The stone inside the circle Jaskier had been trapped in was decaying, moss covered and crumbling like it had weathered through a thousand years of being exposed to the elements. Everything had felt wrong and twisted, leaving a gaping hole in Geralt’s chest and his stomach churning like he was going to be sick. Jaskier was supposed to be love and brightness, sunshine and wildflowers. Not this. Never this and somehow Geralt knew it was his fault. He was the one responsible for twisting and blackening the once good thing.

Geralt hadn’t been able to move, stood staring at the moss covered stone and letting his mind go blank. He knew Eskel had yelled at him, that Lambert had called him many a name but he didn’t really register what they were saying to him. At some point Yennefer had lead them away, patting Geralt on the shoulder before leaving him. Geralt was alone, now more so then ever.

He had hoped that when he and Jaskier reunited he would have been able to patch their broken relationship. He had been prepared to work for the bards forgiveness, had been ready to suffer through his rage and anger but he had never thought to ready himself for the other man’s rejection of him. He had known it would have been hard, knew it would take time to earn back Jaskier’s trust and hopefully his love but he had never imagined he would outright deny Geralt.

Geralt had offered him his very existence and Jaskier had refused. Jaskier didn’t want him, the one person who had always strived to make Geralt feel like a man, to make him feel like he belonged. He had given Geralt a home beyond the walls of Kaer Morhe, a reason to strive to be better but now it was all crumbling down around him, the one thought going round in his mind in an endless loop.

Jaskier didn’t want him and the realisation felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest. Sharpened nails clawing at his chest and prizing his ribs apart, Jaskier’s hand as cold as ice as he reached inside Geralt’s chest and relieved him of that last little bit of feeling that had survived through the trails, the path. The small flickering flame Geralt had guarded all these years extinguished as Jaskier tore out his heart with one sharp tug and left him feeling numb.

The last shred of hope Geralt had held onto slipped through his fingers like sand, blowing away in the gentle breeze that carried with it the smell of summer and wildflowers.

Jaskier didn’t want him and Geralt didn’t know what to do to fix it.


	4. Part 4

Jaskier was not ready, not ready in the slightest. Seeing Geralt again in, well Jaskier didn’t know how long it had been actually but the point was that seeing Geralt had felt like a wound being reopened and maggots being allowed to infest it. Jaskier hadn’t been ready, hadn’t had time to prepare any witty comebacks or to even present himself in a respectable fashion and things had spiralled out of control far too quickly for his liking.

Of course it had been a complete coincidence and of course it was all for poor little Yennefer that Geralt would risk not only his life but that of his brothers as well. It was always about Yennefer with Geralt, that stupid wish making him trot after her like lame donkey, desperate for scraps. Rather pathetic now that he thought about it.

Jaskier had wanted to leave as soon as he had laid eyes on Geralt, the Witcher looking back at him with surprise, confusion and something that Jaskier wouldn’t dare to call hope. He had desperately wanted to just yell out ‘ _fuck you’_ and go back to the milk maid Jaskier had been about to ravish. Admittedly his heart hadn’t been in it, just going through the motions really. His partners always left satisfied, Jaskier having given them an experience like no other but it had all become monotonous, Jaskier only really doing so because it was what was expected of him. He hadn’t been able to leave though, Yennefer’s stupid spells keeping him stuck and it had left him angry. Left him feeling trapped in a situation he didn’t want to be in, feeling like a caged animal.

So he had lashed out.

He had regretted it the moment Geralt had looked up at him, a fear in his eyes that Jaskier had never seen directed at him before. He hadn’t meant to do it but Yennefer just wouldn’t shut up and he had had enough of pretending he wasn’t the most powerful person in the room and he had just wanted her to feel like most mortals did when she entered a room, just once. Jaskier had gotten so used to people just passing him over, of them thinking that he was exactly what Yennefer had said he was. Useless. Pathetic. Fragile. Human. Well not anymore.

He wanted them to see him for what he was. For Geralt to realise exactly how lucky he had been over the last two decades because a more prideful God would have cut Geralt down the moment he had gut punched them just minutes after they met. He wanted Geralt to look at him as something other than a mistake, a nuisance. He wanted the Witcher to see him for once, just once but he had never wanted Geralt to be afraid of him, for anyone to be afraid of him but that was what had happened.

The room had stank with it, Geralt’s brothers drawing their swords as the White Wolf had cradled Yennefer against his chest like she was the most precious thing to him. That had been a painful reminder for Jaskier, a slap in the face if you would. Geralt had made his choice and Jaskier was not it.

So he had stopped, ashamed and angry at himself for his actions and close to tears. He had had to look away, had to try and regain some form of composure. He was a God, omnipotent and benevolent. He was better than this, better than his jealousy and heartbreak but more than anything he was just tired. It was exhausting loving Geralt and Jaskier had hopped that he would have been granted the kindness to get over his love in peace but when it came to Geralt Jaskier had never been that lucky. A point proven when they had told him why he had been summoned.

Yennefer had been angry when Jaskier said no but not Geralt. No the Witcher had seemed sad, hurt even, looking like a kicked puppy as he let Yennefer yell and insult Jaskier, the women throwing a tantrum because she had been denied something she saw as her right to have.

Jaskier was big enough to admit that he had gotten some twisted pleasure from denying them their freedom. They wanted each other so bloody much they should just embrace the forsaken wish and give into its pull. He knew it was fake, knew that whatever Geralt and Yennefer felt for each other was twisted round on its self and muddled with feelings that would lay with another. It was the reason of his existence to know love, to feel it and he knew that at least on some part what Geralt and Yennefer felt for each other was real but to what extent he couldn’t say. The wish muddying his attempts to pick and prod at their bond in the past.

Jaskier could feel love. He knew who loved who and who and what ones wanted only to just fuck. He could see the stings that blinded them, could make the bond stronger or snap it completely. He could drive a man mad with lust or make it so he would never be able to quench his desires. Jaskier could see it all and once upon a time he had been able to feel the beginnings of affections from Geralt, had been able to see the faint red string starting to reach out for Jaskier but then Geralt had made that stupid wish and the sting had snapped whilst a new one began to form, reaching out to another. The bond was strong between Geralt and Yennefer, even more so than the last time Jaskier had seen them something having transpired to bind them together even more so than before and Jaskier knew that it was the child surprises doing. The three of them now the family they had all longed for.

It wasn’t the reason he had said no though. 

Destiny was not a being who should be ignored or angered. She was beautiful and terrifying and would forsake any who got in the way of her plans, mortal or God. Unlike some Jaskier had the good sense to not want to anger her and if this was the path she desired for Geralt he would not interfere. Geralt’s disregard of him and his heart had been a pain that Jaskier had never before known and would haunt him for the rest of time but he harboured no illusions that destiny would find a way to make that heartbreak feel like a gentle walk through field of flowers if he should interfere with her chosen paths.

What they asked was not possible and even if he could grant their wish Jaskier wasn’t sure that he would have done so anyway. Was it not a God’s prerogative to play lose with the foolish mortals that thought they had some right to demand things of them? Jaskier was hurt, morning the loss of his heart so couldn’t his lack of interest in helping the man who had taken it be justified. And then the bastard had said please and all the pain and furry he had been holding back broke free and came tumbling from his lips.

Never in all their years together had Geralt said please when asking something of Jaskier but now, now it was for his precious Yennefer of course he would suddenly learn the word, the curtesy to be polite, to treat Jaskier with some form of respect. It wouldn’t have been so bad, Jaskier already knowing that Geralt would do anything for the sorcerers but Geralt had to go and open his fucking mouth and make things so much worse. Had to go and stomp on the delicate remains of Jaskier’s heart and spitting on it for good measure.

Jaskier hadn’t known anger like he did in the moment Geralt dropped to his knees, stripped bare of the material things that marked him as a Witcher and offer Jaskier himself as a form of payment.

He was an idiot, a fool of a Witcher. Did he even truly know what he was offering Jaskier, understand that he was giving up his freedom, his mind, his damned soul. Jaskier had longed for such devotion from Geralt for so long, had dreamed of the day he would get to call the Witcher his but not like this, not as a sacrifice, a forced offering in exchange for a God’s favour and all for fucking Yennefer of Vengerberg.

It had felt like what had remained of his heart had shattered into a thousand tiny shards, scattering in the wind as his anger raged. Any other God and Geralt would been claimed already, branded with his servitude and a deal struck and it would have been their own fault, so careless in there request. There had been no specifics, no carefully worded request that left no room for interpretation. All they had asked was to get rid of a djinn wish, hadn’t even said it had to be the wish that blinded them. Any other God and Geralt would have been taken, his and Yennefer’s bond left in place or twisted into something else, something darker that could have end in death and it would have deserved them right.

Jaskier knew that Yennefer made Geralt stupid but he hadn’t realised how much he was actually willing to sacrifice to keep her happy. He would willingly give himself to Jaskier to do with as he pleased, someone who he had no interest in, didn’t even like and all because Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg had asked him for something that by alright should be unattainable. The man was a fool and Jaskier had briefly entertained the idea of striking him down, claiming his task done and leaving his brothers and the ungrateful wretch to morn his loss and burry the body.

Something dark twisted in Jaskier’s chest, bubbling and blooming inside of him. He wanted to hurt Geralt, wanted him to feel even a slither of what he had done to Jaskier and it scared him, how badly he wanted to inflict pain. He had to get away, had to leave there and then before he did something he would regret. Maybe not the next day or even a hundred years from now but one day none the less he would come to regret his actions.

He hadn’t really thought as he bit out his willingness to help, his anger clouding his actions. He couldn’t even look at Geralt, couldn’t stomach to see whatever look was on his face, thinking he was now stuck with Jaskier for eternity when all he had wanted was him gone. Jaskier had only just managed to get his words out, snapping and snarling at the implication he would stay it that place with them, with Geralt. As soon as Yennefer had disturbed that forsaken containment spell, the power keeping him stuck there fading Jaskier had left, not bothering with goodbyes as he fled in anger.

He hadn’t bothered looking for somewhen unpopulated, instead ending up in the middle of a raging battle as Nilfgaard decimated another stronghold. He went unseen by all, his feet sinking into the mud as a storm raged above them. The sky’s were black, cold rain falling like ice and the wind howling, ringing with the cry’s of man and the clang of swords. Jaskier took a deep breath, eyes closed, head tipped back and had screamed his rage for all to hear.

His power had raced free and unchecked, grasping at the threads of love that surrounded him and ripped them free, shattering the hearts of all those around him. They fell instantly, a battle field gone silent as a hundred hearts stopped beating. Yet his scream still echoed in the wind, his pain and anger swelling with all the suffering he inflicted on those left behind, feeling the moment their love perished but Jaskier found himself uncaring, his once caring heart blackened and longing for others to suffer as he did.

Jaskier loved love, had taken the simplest of pleasures from bringing two souls together but now the idea of doing so left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was a God of love except he was denied it again and again so why should anyone else have it if he could not? Why should he be the only one to suffer? He was being selfish, Jaskier knew that. He suffered no delusions that what he had just done went against what he was made to do, had sworn to protect and welcomed the wrath of the others. Death would be a nice reprieve from his pain that he was not made to feel.

But no one came and as he stood surrounded by death Jaskier felt something inside him shift and not for the better. He could feel it, every broken heart, every instance of love unreturned, every desire left unanswered. It swirled and mixed with what was already there, tainting the love that seemed to cling desperately to him but it was all too much, his chest feeling like it was going to burst open under the pressure. So Jaskier had shut it all off, blocked it out and let his body and mind go blissfully numb, turning his back on love.

He went to the furthest inhabited point from Geralt he could get, appearing in the middle of a house of ill repute and let himself get lost in the pleasures of the flesh. Jaskier didn’t know long he stayed in that place, taking one lover after another, chasing that feeling of adoration that people always so freely gave him when he brought them to new heights of pleasure. Old or young, man or women, Jaskier didn’t care. It all bled into one, a mass of moaning women beneath him, above him. Groaning and gasping men behind him, under him. Sometimes it was him and one other, sometimes two and sometimes more. Jaskier lived for it, those moments were his name was gasped, his true name though his partner’s seemed unaware or it. It filled him with power, a prayer, an offering of themselves at the altar of his his existence but like most of his luck it soured and even in a place such as that love found a way and reminded Jaskier of his true purpose in life.

Her name was Darla, a young women in service of the brothel Jaskier had taken up residence in and she was desperately in love with a young farm hand called William who once a month would buy an hour of her time and never once lay a hand on her. He loved her back just a fiercely and it had made Jaskier’s blackened and forgotten heart ache with the echo of their pain as they were forced to part once more. It was a tragic little love story and it stayed with Jaskier for the rest of the day and night.

That night as he led in bed, Darla laying sated and naked next to him Jaskier had found himself asking the girl why she did this to herself when her loved waited so eager and willing for her. They had spoken for hours, until the sun was high in the sky and it had been glorious. They spoke of love and pain and longing and so much more. She told him of the debt she owed the madam and how she could not leave until such a time and how she feared that William would not wait for her or even truly want her when she was just a used women and Jaskier had found himself comforting her, reassuring the girl that his love for her was true and strong.

He had let his magic weave into his words, seeking the string that bound the two young lovers together and strengthened their bond. Jaskier had given her money, enough coin to pay off her debt and be able to start a new life with William in a town that would know her as nothing more than a charmingly sweet young girl. He had watched her run from the whore house not an hour latter, free of the things that had been weighing her down and straight into the arms of her love, her heart and soul light and full of love.

What was he doing? Hiding away and neglecting a part of him that he had always derived such joy from? He was made for love, to bring others together and bind their souls yet he had let Geralt take it from him, darken all that he was. Well no more. Geralt may have his heart and that would never change, Jaskier knew he would only ever love once and no other would compare to the Witcher but Geralt had made a choice and Jaskier refused to let him drag him down with him. Geralt could keep his heart, he did not need it. The love he brought others had once been all he needed and it would once again be enough but first he had a promise to keep and then he would turn his gaze away from Geralt of Rivia and leave his heart on that mountain. Unneeded and unwanted.

Destiny was where he had gone first, seeking permission to do what Yennefer had asked of him. If she said no, the bond needed to stay than Jaskier would simply inform them it wasn’t possible and leave them to it. Destiny had welcomed him with open arms and a rush of relief that he had returned to them once more. He hadn’t even needed to ask, she had already known what he came for and as they had embraced she had whispered to him. “It’s time love, be free”.

Jaskier had cried in her arms, a mix of emotions he hadn’t been ready for swelling within him. The one that struck him most was the relief he had felt. Though it was Yennefer and Geralt he would set free Jaskier had felt like chains had been lifted from his shoulders, unbound and able to run free once more. He couldn’t explain it but he knew with braking their forced bond Jaskier would be able to let go, to move forward without pain or guilt. He would be free once more and it set his dying heart a flutter.

He hadn’t gone straight back to Kaer Morhen, needing the time to collect himself and work out exactly what he would need to do. So instead he had gone back to his gilded rooms and stared out across golden rivers, trying to decide how he would be able to get through the coming trial without his heart splintering even more. He was resigned to the fact that Geralt was not meant for him, had chosen Yennefer and though he would not change that he still wouldn’t subject himself to such torment for their sakes so Jaskier had designed a set of terms, conditions for his assistance that he would see him able to survive this encounter.

  * Once the task was completed they would never summon him again. He did not want to live through the centuries with the fear that at any moment they would call him back and demand some other service from him that he wasn’t willing to offer.
  * They did it his way and at his pace or they didn’t do it at all. He was the God here and he would not stand for Yennefer or Geralt trying to tell him what to do.
  * There would be no demands made of him whilst he was assisting with this task, from anyone. He would not stand to be questioned and prodded for detail of his life or powers and he was not above making them all impotent if they annoyed him.
  * He would deal with Yennefer and Yennefer alone until it became a necessity to involve Geralt. He didn’t need both of them to get at the strands of their bond and he would rather not have to spend long periods of time alone with Geralt if he could help it.
  * Payment would be in the form of a kiss.



Jaskier didn’t quite know why he had added the last part, had contemplated scrubbing it out on several occasions yet he had left it at the bottom of the page all the same. He hadn’t specified who the kiss would be from, the nature of it or even where upon said person it would be. It was open ended and ambiguous and honestly he was probably just being childish at this point. Geralt had been willing to offer up his life as payment but would he be willing to let Jaskier prize Yennefer’s legs open and place his lips against her core and claim his payment?

Not that he would do that, not really but it was a strangely appealing thought to make the Witcher watch him do such a thing. Jaskier had a rather talented mouth, in more ways than one and he wondered if it would hurt Geralt’s pride to know that Jaskier would do a better job at getting Yennefer off with his mouth than he would ever be able to do with his entire being. In all honesty he would most likely kiss the back of Yennefer’s hand or her cheek and be done with it but he did find some amusement in the thought of making them squirm with the possibility of Jaskier’s payment.

Finally though he had put it off long enough and Jaskier had no choice but to finally return to Kaer Morhen. Better to get it over and done with as they said of most things that you didn’t want to do. He was better prepared this time though, knew what awaited him when he would arrive. With his terms in hand Jaskier had reached out for the familiar feel of Geralt’s heart, letting it pull him from his home and back to the keep, ready to take the next step towards being free of his own heart.

At least he was dressed appropriately this time.


	5. Part 5

Geralt didn’t know what to do and it was slowly but surely driving him crazy.

It had been months since they had summoned Jaskier, since Geralt had found out the truth and winter had fully set in around the keep. It had been snowing almost constantly for the last week, the snow so thick that no one had dared to chance going out in it. So everyone had been stuck inside, training in the hall for hours on end with the sound of swords clashing ringing through the air. Normally that wouldn’t have been an issue, it was always like this when the snow set in but this time was different and Geralt hated it.

He couldn’t stop staring at that stupid circle of moss and decay. Couldn’t get the image of Jaskier looking down at him in utter anger and disgust out of his head. Every time he walked into the room Geralt’s eyes would stray to that point in the middle of the floor and would be reminded that Jaskier didn’t want him anymore. He hated how weak he was, hated how lost it made him feel knowing that Jaskier would never be by his side again and just like every other time before he had felt so fucking inadequate when faced with his own emotions Geralt had gotten angry.

Eskel hadn’t minded so much, meeting Geralt blow for blow when they trained, helping Geralt work off his frustrations but Lambert couldn’t seem to keep his fucking thoughts to himself and after having to listen to the insufferable ass make one to many comments about Geralt becoming Jaskier’s pampered pet he had snapped, abandoning his sword and beating his frustration and anger into the younger Witcher.

It had taken Vesemir and Eskel to drag Geralt off of him, Lambert’s face bloody and swelling. Geralt had felt like an animal in that moment, snarling and snapping, his skin itching and hands scrabbling to ring Lambert’s neck. The only thing that had brought his anger to a stop had been the look on Ciri’s face. It hadn’t been fear but it had been close enough that Geralt had felt the burning rush of shame and with a grunt he had yanked himself free of their hold and stormed not only from the hall but the keep its self, trudging through the snow until he was on the far side and roared his anger to the white sky above.

Things had been tense for a while after that. Geralt hadn’t apologised to Lamber and the other Witcher hadn’t apologised to him either but the comments stopped, all mention of Jaskier stopped actually and on some level that had hurt more than being constantly reminded he wasn’t wanted. It was like they were acting like he didn’t exist, like the bard was just a ghost of a memory and Geralt didn’t want that. He was hurt, angry and mourning the loss of his only true friend but he would never exchange the memories he had of the other man so he didn’t have to feel all those things.

People always said that Witcher’s didn’t feel and for the most part that was true. They had had it trained out of them, taught how to keep it all down, how to ignore everything that could get in the way of The Path but as it turns out all you need is one person, persistent and unafraid to bring it all crashing to the surface and as easy as it would to shove it all back down again Geralt didn’t want to. He deserved to remember it all, the good and the bad. He had hurt Jaskier and he didn’t deserve the luxury of not feeling that pain every day for the rest of his existence.

The only person who wasn’t acting like Jaskier was some sort of phantom was Yennefer and that was only because she was to busy cursing his existence.

She was angry, convinced the bard had abandoned them and had no intention of fulfilling his promise to help them. She had wanted to summon him again and despite Geralt wanting to see the God again he had talked her out of it. Despite everything Geralt trusted Jaskier and when he truly promised to do things the bard always followed through. He had been so sure that Jaskier would help despite any ill will he felt towards Geralt and Yennefer. He was a man of his word and he would stick to it as a matter of honor but as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months Geralt started to question his conviction.

Then suddenly one cold night, when they were all huddled in the library around a roaring fire, Jaskier had just appeared. Ciri hand gasped, Eskel and Lambert tensing and hand reaching for their daggers whilst Vesemir had barely looked up from his book. Geralt’s head had snapped up, hands curling around the sward he had been in the middle of sharpening and just stared wide eyed at Jaskier, half convinced that the other man was some sort of imagining.

He hadn’t looked right, face blank and eyes dulled. It didn’t help either that his normally bright clothes were dulled, the silk of his matching doublet and britches a muted blue that was close to being grey. He looked sombre and serious and Geralt found it worse than when he had been angry. He couldn’t get a read on him either, a subtle sniff of the air only offering the faint trace of summer and wildflowers. Everything about Jaskier was less and it left Geralt feeling uneasy.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone, just took the few short steps from the fire to Yennefer and thrust a folded piece of paper at her. She had taken it with a raised eyebrow, the two of them glaring at each other before she looked down at the page. Geralt had watched silently as her eyes darted across the page, desperately wanting to know what it was he had given her but not wanting to do or say anything that would possibly drive the other man away.

Yennefer had seemed surprised by the last part, her eyes widening as they shot back up to Jaskier but he just stared back at her, arm crossed and eyebrow raised. “Agreed” she had said simply after the silence had dragged on far too long in Geralt’s opinion. “We start tomorrow”. Jaskier’s voice had been cold and sharp as he nodded and before Geralt could even begin to form the words to demand to know what started the next day Jaskier was gone, he scent fading quickly.

He had looked for Yennefer for answers but she had just shrugged, gracefully getting up from her seat and throwing the letter into the fire before Geralt had been able to snatch it from her. She had bid them all goodnight afterwards and Geralt had been tempted to go after he to get his answers but Vesemir’s gruff voice kept him in place. “If it was meant for you boy you would know. Give the women some damned peace and stop sticking your nose were it ain’t wanted”.

That night he had led in bed staring at Jaskier’s lute, the same one he had gotten all those years ago when they had first met and wondered how it had all gone so fucking wrong. 

He knew the answer to that, was always the same with people who got involved with Witcher’s. They got hurt somewhere down the line or worse they ended up dead. This was different though because Jaskier had got close, had no fear of Geralt or the path he walked down. Geralt had thought him stupid and reckless to start with but now he knew it was because Jaskier hadn’t had a reason to be afraid. He was a God, everything and everyone else feared him.

That day in Posada he had been genuinely worried that Jaskier would die for the simple reason he had been stood next to Geralt, had feared he would end up with the bards blood on his hands even though he had tried to get him to fuck off. There had been many incidents after that, scattered across the decades were Geralt had feared for Jaskier’s life but there had never been any need for that fear because Jaskier was never in harm’s way.

Geralt couldn’t deny that he was angry at Jaskier for that, wanted to demand from him his reasons for playing at being a weak little human when he could have easily have walked up to a fucking striga and ripped its throat out without getting a scratch on him. He wanted to see that, wanted to truly see what Jaskier was capable of. He had such a strong image of the bard in his mind but it was all wrong now, wasn’t a true representative of who or what he was and Geralt wanted to truly know the man he had spent so long entwined with. They may not have been bonded by destiny like he and Yennefer were but they were still bound to one another. Geralt knew that to be true he just didn’t know how to bring Jaskier back to him.

His sleep had been restless that night and full of all the questions he had, aimlessly chasing answers and Jaskier round a maze of his own design that he still didn’t know how to escape. The next day he had been on edge, waiting for Jaskier to appear once more and get started on ridding him and Yennefer of their bond but he had never shown and Geralt had been left irritated and twitchy, thinking that Jaskier had gone back on his word and not understanding why.

That was until he had seen Yennefer for the first time that day and her usual lilac and gooseberries scent carrying with it the faint smell of summer rains and fresh flowers and Geralt knew in that moment that Jaskier had kept his world after all but Geralt hadn’t been welcomed to take part.

Yennefer had looked at him with pity in her violet eyes, telling him that Jaskier didn’t need them both to examine the bond and that he wanted Geralt to concentrate on training Ciri because he knew how important it was that the young princess was ready. It was a lie, Geralt could smell it and Yennefer knew he could but he didn’t say anything, didn’t call her out on her horse shit. He had just grunted in answer and took her advice because that had been what it was. Yennefer telling him that Jaskier wouldn’t come to him until needed and he should find something to keep him busy so he wouldn’t dwell on the fact that Jaskier was avoiding him.

So he had thrown himself into Ciri’s training, driving her harder as he tried to prepare her for the trials ahead but it was difficult to say the least. Jaskier’s smell was everywhere, tantalising and taunting and Geralt would often find himself following it only to be met with a closed door or it just suddenly vanishing. He kept catching glimpses of him as well as he and Yennefer strolled through the halls and grounds, heads bent and in deep conversation. Geralt had tried a couple of times to pick up what they were saying but it never worked and he suspected Yennefer having put up some kind of ward that would keep any of them listening in.

It was frustrating, having the person he longed for so close but out of his reach and he had often thought about just storming up to Jaskier and demanding his attention but Eskel had talked him out of the direct approach, telling Geralt of the insatiable erection the bard had given Lambert after he had made one to many comments about Jaskier’s sleeping habits and the younger man hand practically fallen at Jaskier’s knees as he apologised and pleaded with him to get rid of it after a long three days of no relief. It had sounded painful and humiliating but Geralt had still punched him the next time he saw him, telling him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t leave Jaskier alone he wouldn’t have to worry about being stuck with a hard dick because he would find himself without one very quickly.

So Geralt did the next best thing and actually talked for once. He asked everyone about their encounters with the bard, wanting to soak up every bit of information he could. He was annoying his family, he knew that but he couldn’t stop. It was the only access he had to Jaskier and his family seemed to understand that he needed this to keep him sane, though Yennefer was getting less and less amused by his constant questions as the days went past.

He had started to give Yennefer things as well to give to Jaskier. An old and flaky book of love poems he had found under a bookcase right at the back of the library. A dear skin that he had cleaned and prepared himself. A silver dagger he had gotten Jaskier before the mountain that had a decretive hilt inlayed with gold and a few small sapphires that had reminded Geralt of Jaskier’s eyes. Yennefer took each gift from Geralt with a sigh and a look that implied she thought Geralt was an idiot but she never refused his request to pass them onto Jaskier when she would see him next.

He didn’t know if Jaskier accepted them, or even kept the items but Yennefer never returned them to him and Geralt never found them abandoned around the large building so he could only hope that Jaskier liked them and had taken them with him where ever he went when he wasn’t there. He was aware that it seemed like he was trying to buy Jaskier’s forgiveness, his affections but it wasn’t what he was doing. He wanted Jaskier to know that despite how things had seemed Geralt had always payed attention to him, had listened to every mumbled comment and flight of fancy.

Jaskier adored poetry, had complained for days after he had been unable to buy a book of love poems because he didn’t have the coin to afford it and Geralt had refused to use any of his for such frivolous things when they needed more important things like food. He was always complaining about being cold out on the road, wrapping himself if soft furs and blankets whenever he got the chance, smiling and purring like an overgrown house cat. He had told Geralt of a man who had tried to rob him when they had been separated the winter before last and had made an of handed comment that Geralt should teach him how to wield one of his swords, quickly changing that to a dagger he could keep hidden about his persons when he had tried to pick a sword up and found out how heavy it was.

Geralt always payed attention to Jaskier, even if he had made it seem otherwise.

Weeks passed in this manner, Geralt trying to catch glimpses of Jaskier and getting an update from Yennefer every evening about the progress she and Jaskier were making. Geralt knew they were doing something, could sometimes feel a tug on their bond like someone was pulling on it and he knew that to be Jaskier’s doing. From what she told him they were close to being able to fix it, Jaskier having gotten to the point where he could no longer avoid Geralt. 

It had been a blessing and a curse, the first day Geralt had walked into the library to find Jaskier leant against the hearth, waiting for him. It had been so long and Geralt wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch but he knew better than to push the boundaries Jaskier had put in place. He had still been wearing muted colours, his matching doublet and britches a soft silken green with a cream shirt underneath. It had all seemed wrong, the blank and serious look on his face, blue eyes hard and angry. He hadn’t wanted to be there, hadn’t wanted to be with Geralt but he had no choice.

Geralt had tried to apologise, barley getting the word out before Jaskier was snapping at him, telling him to shut up and that he needed to concentrate or he could end up breaking something else. Jaskier had never threatened Geralt before and the unspoken promise that if he didn’t stay quite than he would purposely hurt Geralt left him shocked and stunned. So he had just grunted and stayed quite, letting the bard do what he needed.

They had ended up on the floor, Jaskier sat before him with his eyes closed, one hand pressed against Geralt’s temple and the other resting on his chest over his steadily beating heart. Jaskier was warm, his callused fingers still incredibly soft and Geralt had relished the feel of his hands on his skin once more. He hadn’t even realised how much he had missed it, Jaskier just touching him in the casualest of ways but now he had felt him once more Geralt couldn’t stop thinking about every time before.

He had watched Jaskier, eyes just soaking him in as the bard worked, neither of them moving for hours or even saying a word. It was the longest time Geralt had known Jaskier to go without talking and though it left him feeling disappointed, longing to hear the bards’ voice once more he took the opportunity to observe him. It went on like this for a week or two, the two of them meeting in the library and not saying a single word to one another whilst Jaskier worked to unpick the twisted wish that had turned Geralt’s life into the shit show it was now.

Geralt missed him. Had never really missed any one before and certainly not to the extent that he did Jaskier. He thought about everything, every moment they had spent together, trying to puzzle out how he had missed the fact he had been traveling with a God for all those years. Emotions swam lazily through his mind depending on the memory he pulled up. Anger, annoyance and exasperation always seemed to be there but also fondness, joy, lust but most of all love. As the days went on his feelings became clearer, like a fog was lifting and he could see for the first time in a long time what had truly been before him all along.

Geralt had a suspicion that Jaskier had some inkling of what Geralt thought about in these moments.

He had gotten distracted once, lost in the memory if Jaskier’s hands running through his hair, gentle and calming as he washed all the dirt and gore from his body. He had gotten so focused on how good it had felt, how strong and sure fingers had dug into his muscles, rubbing away the tension. Long delicate fingers dancing across his skin and making Geralt’s body tingle. He imagined them going further, of delicate hands sinking below the clouded water and finding Geralt’s hardness. He imagined those callouses, rubbing against his most sensitive spots and how the bard would lean against his back and whisper praise and love against his ear, voice soft and melodic as Geralt gasped and moaned, Jaskier’s name the only word he could get his mind to form.

Jaskier had jerked back from him with a loud gasp, the action jolting Geralt from his day dream, his eyes wide and mind alert for some unknown danger only to find Jaskier clutching his hand to his chest like it had been burned and looking at Geralt with wide and shocked eyes, mouth hanging open and an appealing rose tint to his cheeks. He had left quickly after that, sprouting of some rubbish about being done for the day even though it was a good couple of hours earlier than they had been finishing normally. Before Geralt could even attempt to understand what had happened Jaskier was gone again, leaving behind nothing more than an aged patch of carpet that he had been sat on just moments before and the smell of damp grass and dewy summer air.

Geralt had tried to keep his mind from straying after that, well at least to anything lewd any way but he hadn’t kept anything else to himself. He would watch Jaskier intently as he thought about how sorry he was, how he miss the bard, how he loved him. Geralt would conjure up scenarios in his head of how he would apologise if they had meet on the road, of everything he would tell the bard if he was given the chance to speak hoping Jaskier could feel it.

Sometimes Jaskier would frown, eye twitching as his fidgeted. Sometimes he would smile, just a small upturn of his lips as his eyes stayed close but Geralt would pick up the change in his smell, how it became a little warmer, a little sweeter and when that happened Jaskier would normally linger a little afterwards, his hand slow to be removed from over Geralt’s heart. They still never spoke apart from Jaskier saying he would be back the next day and Geralt grunting his understanding but the Witcher felt like progress was being made, that he was on the way to fixing what he had broken all those months ago.

And then Geralt had overheard Jaskier with Ciri and things had changed once more.

He hadn’t meant to listen in, he had thought Jaskier long gone and had been on his way to make sure the girl got to bed at a respectable time. Her door had been open and the sound of Jaskier singing softly had floated down the corridor and had Geralt stopping in his tracks. It had been so long since he had heard Jaskier sing that he had almost forgotten what it sounded like. He had sunk down onto the cold stone by her door, head resting against the wall and eyes closed and just let the bards’ voice wash over him.

One song turned into two, than three and then four. They were silly little things, child friendly and told of epic feats of bravery, great love affairs and happily ever afters. The knight in shinny golden armour who always saved the girl and defeated the monster and then the princess who saved him right back. Ciri laughed and so did Jaskier, a genuine sound of happiness that had Geralt’s breath catch. He had missed that sound, probably more than the singing actually. Geralt allowed himself a moment to forget everything that had come before this and just imagine that this was how things were, that Jaskier was here and happy and with Geralt, slotting into his life perfectly like he was always meant to be there.

Then Ciri had asked him why love hurt so much and that happy little image came to an abrupt halt.

“Love has to hurt, it’s how people know it’s real” he had answered after a while, his voice soft and spoken with certainty. The bard hadn’t used to think that. He had believed that love was something beautiful and precious, a thing that should only ever bring joy to people’s lives. Geralt had mocked him for his blind optimism, telling the bard that all love ever got you was trouble and pain but he had carried on, calling Geralt an unromantic brute and singing his silly love song about a young lord and the stable boy and Geralt had just huffed and smirked, though he had tried to hide it. He had like Jaskier’s bright outlook on life, though it did seem to get him into a lot of trouble.

Geralt had listened to Jaskier explain that no love was without its trials, that even the most epic of lovers often had to make sacrifices along the way. He spoke of Ciri’s own parents and the trials they had had to overcome to be together and he spoke of Calanthe and Eist and how fiercely they loved one another but it also meant there arguments could be quite ferocious as well.

“To love and be loved in return is a wondrous thing little cub. To give yourself so fully to another and trust that they will stay with you and protect you is no easy feat but alas the heart is a fragile thing and when that trust is broken it can be difficult to fix the damage that has been done, if possible at all. The day you hold another’s heart in your hands you must treat it like glass, something precious and fleeting to be protected because the slightest knock and you may well find your hands bloody with nothing but shards between your fingers”.

Jaskier had sounded sad as he spoke and Geralt had stared down at his scared and rough fingers like he had never before seen them. He hadn’t been gentle with Jaskier’s heart, he had squeezed and squeezed until it had shattered between his fingers and still he had pressed on, grinding it into dust. He had broken Jaskier’s heart that day on the mountain, Geralt knew that much and he had hoped to one day get the chance to fix that but now he wasn’t so sure he would be welcomed to try. Maybe the damage was done and there would be no fixing it.

“Can you and Geralt be fixed?” Ciri had asked so innocently and the silence from the room beyond had been deafening. He had expected Jaskier to try and play it off, be all bright and airy like he normally was when someone tried to get him to speak of something he didn’t want to but he had answered her honestly and Geralt had found himself hanging off every word, waiting to know if he still had a chance.

“Some things are just not meant to be princess and you cannot force a heart to want something it does not desire. Sometimes we must let go of the people we love the most so they may be happy”. Geralt didn’t want to let Jaskier go, wanted to grip tighter until the shards of his heart fused back together. But he couldn’t force Jaskier into something he didn’t want. He probably knew Geralt was there and the words were for his benefit, a polite way for Jaskier to tell him that his advances were not wanted and he should stop, that it would be a kindness to just let Jaskier go. He was selfish though and he didn’t think he was ready to give up yet.

“But you love each other, if you didn’t it wouldn’t hurt so much, right?” Geralt wanted her to stop, wanted to storm in to the room and demand that enough was enough just so he didn’t have to hear Jaskier’s quiet and soothing voice as he replied. “Some times it is simply not enough”. So that was it then, Geralt wasn’t enough, his love was not enough. He had been foolish to think that it ever would be. Jaskier was a God and Geralt was a Witcher, a mutant, ugly and monstrous. God’s how could he be such a fool?

“He keeps it you know, the love letter you wrote him. I know it wasn’t polite to look but I was curious what he would think important enough to keep by his bedside”. Geralt had never felt more pathetic than he did in that moment. He knew Ciri meant well but now Jaskier knew that Geralt had invaded his personal space, had taken something he wasn’t meant to and that he had been pathetic and desperate enough to take it with him and keep it close to hand. Was the bard angry with him, disgusted even? Maybe he would come and demand it back, scream and shout at Geralt that he had no right to go to Oxenfurt, to take something that was never meant for him. At least it would be something other than silence, at least Jaskier would finally be saying something to him.

Jaskier left quickly after that, bundling Ciri into bed and promising to come see her again the next day and she had said sorry for speaking out of turn but the bard had assured her that it was okay, no harm done before he left as suddenly as he always arrived. Geralt had stayed sat on the floor for a long time, head hung between his knees and hands gripping at his hair, just listening to Ciri’s steady breathing as she slept. He lost track of how long he sat there but soon enough the cold began to seep in and with a grunt he pushed himself up, his joints protesting after being in the same position for so long.

He knew the moment he got back to his room that Jaskier had been there and not that long ago either, his scent not having faded yet. The letter lay open on the small table next to his bed, the worn envelope laying next to it. Jaskier’s smell had gotten stronger the closer to his bed Geralt had gotten, the summer sunshine and wildflowers tainted with damp grass. Geralt had run his fingers along the pages, the ink running in places where Jaskier’s tears had hit the page. Geralt didn’t understand why Jaskier had left it but he didn’t care, carefully dotting the page dry before folding the letter back up and putting it back into its envelope. He was allowed to keep it, this little slice of before when Jaskier had been his, even if he hadn’t known it. When he had crawled into bed Geralt pulled the cover up, burying his face it the bit that still smelled like Jaskier and tried not to think about the fact that come morning he would have to start working on letting Jaskier go.

Geralt had thought he would have time to get used to distancing himself from the bard, time to prepare for it but when he had gone down for breakfast he had found the God sat next to Yennefer, the room tense as everyone watched the pair who had been deep in whispered conversation. As soon as Geralt had walked in Jaskier had looked up at him, blue finding amber and Geralt had known that he didn’t have any time at all. “When you are ready” he had said simply and then he was gone, a somber atmosphere falling across all that were in the kitchen.

He and Yennefer had finished their breakfast though Geralt had done so slowly in an attempt to put off the inevitable but all too soon they were trudging up to the library to break the final ties that bound them. Jaskier had been waiting for them, arm resting against the hearth as he stared into the fire that crackled and popped. He had seemed sad as he looked up at them, offering an almost smile that looked painful.

When all was said and done, breaking the final part of the wish had been surprisingly simple.

Geralt and Yennefer had sat next to each other, hands clasped between them with Jaskier knelt before them. He had a hand each against both their hearts and they had their free hand pressed over his. It was the first time Geralt had touched Jaskier in almost a year, his chest firm under his palm and heart beating steadily even though it had jumped at the first press of Geralt’s hand. He had been weak, letting his fingers slip between the laces of his shirt to feel the bards’ skin against his. If it was the last time he would get the chance then he wanted to take it whilst possible. Jaskier had shifted, licking nervously at his lips but he hadn’t moved Geralt’s hand or told him to stop so he had left it there and enjoying the God’s heat seeping into his fingertips.

Jaskier had quickly rushed through his words, stressing the point that they shouldn’t let go no matter what and hopefully all they would feel was a slight tug. He had closed his eyes, chest moving under Geralt’s hand as he pulled in a deep breath, letting it go slowly and then his hands began to glow pink, Geralt’s chest getting warmer underneath his palm. Heat had flooded his body, his skin tingling as he felt Jaskier’s magic take a hold. Jaskier’s heart had began to race under his palm, his breath quickening as his chest had started to glow under Geralt’s palm. It had felt like something was squeezing around his heart, getting tighter and tighter as it became harder to breath. There was a sharp tug, his heart stopping for just a second and then something gave, Geralt’s breath rushing back to him along with a sense of a weight being lifted.

Everyone had moved slowly afterwards, Jaskier looking exhausted as he rubbed at his chest where Geralt’s hand had been. His voice had been quiet as he said he would give them some time to discuss things, Geralt had gone to reach for him, to keep him there in desperation but Yennefer had gotten their first, her fingers curling around his wrist and preventing him from turning away. Geralt didn’t know what he had expected her to say but it hadn’t been about Jaskier’s payment.

Something had sat heavy in Geralt chest at that, not having known that any kind of payment had been arranged. He couldn’t think of what Jaskier would ask for or what Yennefer would even offer. He was so caught up in trying to think what would be considered an appropriate form of payment that he barely heard Jaskier promising not to leave until all debts had been settled, smiling ever so softly at Yennefer before disappearing.

Geralt had ask Yen what Jaskier’s help had cost, how could he have not but she had refused to tell him anything, stating it was between her and the bard and Geralt didn’t have to worry because it was nothing untoward or sinister. He hadn’t been happy about being kept from things but he had had no choice but to let it go for now. He and Yennefer had sat in front of the fire and spoke about how they actually felt, well Yennefer had spoken mostly and Geralt had offered the odd word or two but it had been mostly grunts.

There was love there, one born of years of forced interaction but it wasn’t all consuming, insistent and unavoidable as before. He was sure he would always love her to some degree but now with the bond gone he could feel it clearer how much he had cared for Jaskier over the years that the wish had clouded over or redirected towards Yennefer. He knew then that he couldn’t let Jaskier leave, not until he had the chance o make things right.

He had asked Yennefer to keep Jaskier there until he came back, yelling at her over his shoulder as he went running from the library and back to his room, his mind solely focused on getting the lute he had propped up in the corner of his room. He wanted Jaskier to have it back, even if he could probably magic one up from thin air, Geralt wanted him to have that one. The one that had travelled with them, the one that all those stupid songs had been composed on, the one Geralt always imagined Jaskier with when he thought of the bard. He wanted to give it back to its rightful owner and if he was lucky maybe he would get a chance to actually tell Jaskier how he felt afterwards.

That plan had all gone tits up though when he flung open the door of his room to find Jaskier already stood by his bed, lute in hand. “You kept it”. He didn’t even look up at Geralt as he spoke, fingers delicately running over the wood. Geralt had looked after it, knowing how particular the bard was about these things and he had wanted it to be in perfect condition when he had finally found the bard. “Yes” he had grunted, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him in hopes of getting some privacy. 

There were a lot of things Geralt wanted to say to Jaskier but his words had abandoned him, to caught up in the fast that Jaskier was here, was talking to him. Finally. He spun the instrument in his hands, holding it correctly and strummed his fingers across the strings. He winced at the slight twang, his hands flattening against the strings to silence the sound. “A little off but no matter, nothing a good tuning will not fix”. Jaskier held it out to Geralt and he just looked down at it in confusion.

When he didn’t take it Jaskier sighed, placing it down on the bed behind him. That hurt, like Jaskier was letting go of a piece of them, abandoning their past. Geralt knew he had fucked up, knew he had made so many mistakes but he hadn’t thought that Jaskier would just turn his back on everything that had been before. He grunted, chest hurting as he stared at the abandoned lute. Seemed Jaskier didn’t want anything to do with Geralt any more, even his precious lute.

“What do you want Geralt” Jaskier sounded so tired, looking at Geralt like he wanted nothing more than to be anywhere but here. “I’m sorry” he grunted, the words sounding like they had been forced out from between gritted teeth. “And what exactly are you sorry for hum? Treating me like shit for decades? Blaming me for all your shortcomings and idiotic mistakes? Invading my personal space and going through my things? Forcing Yennefer to act as some poor mule so you could force things on me when I had made it quite clear that I didn’t want to be around you? For making me fall in love with you only to brake my heart and grind it under your boot for good measure?” Jaskier’s voice got louder as he spoke until he was out right shouting at the end.

He looked angry, cheeks red and chest heaving, hands clenched at his side as he glared at Geralt. He looked angry and terrifying and Geralt felt a little disgusted at how beautiful he thought Jaskier looked in that moment. “All of it. Everything. Fuck Jask I…I” Words failed him, just like they always did, well apart from the times he wanted them to. If words had failed him that day on the mountain then he wouldn’t be in this mess right now. “You what Geralt? The last time we spoke you seemed to know exactly what you wanted so why do you seem so incapable of knowing now” Jaskier hissed and Geralt wanted to flinch away from them.

“YOU!” he roared, voice echoing around the small room. Jaskier had shut up after that, eyes wide and mouth flapping like a fish that had been pulled from the river. It wasn’t an attractive look but it gave Geralt the time to get his words out, forcing the disjointed sentences from between his lips. “I want you, just too stupid to realise. I didn’t mean it, not your fault was just angry. I went looking for you, to make it right but you had vanished. I thought you had died Jaskier, thought I had lost you forever without getting a chance to, to apologise and fucking grovel for your forgiveness. I was a shit friend and you deserve better than me. I’m sorry”.

Silence lingered in the room, awkward and heavy and if he was a lesser man Geralt might have started to fidget but as it was he just stood staring at Jaskier and waiting for some sort of answer. Good or bad, it was out there now and Geralt wouldn’t be able to take any of it back. Not that he wanted to.

Jaskier sighed, head falling forward and pressing his fingers over his eyes. “I guess we were both stupid in the end”. Geralt didn’t understand what he meant by that but before he could ask Jaskier was talking again, hand falling and looking Geralt directly in the eye. “I know you looked, Yennefer told me. She told me everything actually, quite the conversationalist once you get her going. You are a lucky man Geralt of Rivia to have her and Ciri by your side. They have done nothing but pester me this whole time, insisting you were some sort of love sick puppy, skulking around the keep and pining away for my affection”.

It was true, Geralt had pinned after him though there had been a lot of anger involved as well. God’s he hoped they hadn’t told him about beating the shit out of Lambert. Though the bard seemed to find him just as irritating he doubted he would appreciate knowing Geralt had gotten into a fight with one of his brothers over him. “Did you Geralt? Did you sulk and long for my attention just like I did yours not so long ago?”

Jaskier had moved closer, stood so close now that Geralt could have reached out and touched him if he didn’t think it would scare the man away. “Yes” A simple answer but the truth. Jaskier had looked at him with wide and pleading eyes, head tilted back ever so slightly so he could still look Geralt in the eyes. Fuck it he had thought, taking a step forward and cupping Jaskier’s cheek in his hand, sword callous thumb brushing against the delicate skin under his eye as her gripped at his slim waist with the other hand. “I missed you from the moment you were gone and I had never planned on stopping looking for you until I got you back. I love you Jaskier”.

It felt like a great weight had been lifted, his heart feeling lighter as soon as the words left his mouth. He loved Jaskier, he had just been too blind to notice until it was already too late. Tears welled in Jaskier’s eyes, clinging to his lashes but not falling. Geralt could smell Jaskier’s sadness, damp grass and salty but he could also smell the slight sweetness of his happiness, honey blossom and cider. Hope bloomed in Geralt’s chest once more.

“You hurt me” Jaskier hand whispered, voice delicate as he placed both his hands on Geralt’s chest. “I know and I will spend every day of the rest of my life making it up to you”. Geralt would tell the bard he loved him every second of every day if that was what it would take. Would spend every night worshiping at his feet and whispering his devotion against his skin. With every breath he had right up until his last he would make it his mission to make sure Jaskier knew how sorry he was and how much Geralt loved him.

The kiss was a surprise but not unwelcome, Jaskier’s lips soft as they pressed against Geralt’s, their natural sweetness tinted with salt as his tears finally fell. Geralt’s eyes closed, his grip on Jaskier’s waist tightening as he had pulled the bard closer. It was soft, delicate, lips moving gently against the others and it was perfect. Geralt poured everything he felt into that kiss, hoping Jaskier could feel how much he loved him. At some point one of Jaskier’s hands had snuck up from his chest and lightly cradled the back of his skull, holding Geralt against him but eventually the kiss ended and Geralt pulled away with a sigh.

They pressed their foreheads together, eyes still closed and just breathing the other in. This felt right, felt like home and Geralt would have been happy to stay like that for as long as Jaskier would have allowed it. “This doesn’t change anything”. Happiness shattered Geralt’s eyes had snapped open as he pulled back to look at Jaskier. Pain and sadness rolled off of him, thick and suffocating. No this couldn’t be happening.

“This isn’t a fairy tale Geralt, a kiss doesn’t solve all our problems. I need time to figure out what I want, what pleases me and I need you to give me that”. If he could cry Geralt was sure he would have tears running down his cheeks, matching those that silently dripped from Jaskier’s chin and down Geralt’s arm. Words abandoned Geralt then once more, his heart aching and unable to grasp what was happening.

Jaskier looked up at him sadly, taking his hands off of Geralt and gently taking the hand that had been pressed against his cheek in both of his. Geralt could only watch as Jaskier turned his head, pressing a gentle kiss against him palm. “Goodbye Geralt” Jaskier had whispered and then he was gone, a warm breeze blowing through the room.

Geralt stood there, eyes wide and hand still outstretched, the phantom tingle of Jaskier’s lips on his skin lingering long after the bard had gone. Eventually his arm fell though, his eyes landing on his now empty bed. Jaskier was gone, lute and all this time but in its place lay a dandelion, the yellow petals standing out against the dark blanket.

Gently he picked the small flower up, his hand shaking as he stared at it. Jaskier was gone and Geralt wasn’t allowed to go looking for him this time. Jaskier was gone and Geralt didn’t know if he was ever coming back. Time was not important to a God, their endless lives meaning they had little need or want to keep track of it. Jaskier needed time and Geralt would give it to him regardless of if it was a week, a month, a year, a decade or a hundred years from now. Geralt would wait, would prove that to him Jaskier was worth it.

Placing the flower down next to Jaskier’s letter Geralt made a silent promise to himself and to Jaskier. He would continue to move forward, would train Ciri and continue down The Path. He would hunt monsters and protect people who wouldn’t necessarily want him around but he would never stop loving Jaskier.

The God was gone but he wasn’t forgotten.


	6. Part 6

Jaskier had gone home for a while after Kaer Morhen, laying amongst the soft grasses and wildflowers. He bathed in the light of the perpetual summer and just let himself feel the love and heartbreak from across every land. It had been surprisingly peaceful, calming his frayed nerves and he had felt like he could breathe for the first time in weeks. People were dying yet they still found love, found joy and hope amongst the darkness and heartbreak. It was beautiful and tragic and Jaskier was content to stay there, loosing himself to the emotions of others and letting everything else fade away. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even open his eyes.

War raged, time passes and Jaskier existed.

Without his own emotions clouding his mind Jaskier let himself really think back on the past twenty years of his long life, examining it as if he were a simple spectre. It was easier like this, picking apart every moment he had spent with Geralt and those without, unraveling his life to get to his answers. With a detached coldness he scrutinised every moment of their time together, looking at every minute interaction with a cutting sharpness that rivalled a doctor’s blade. Languidly he followed his life, picking out the glimpses of emotions he had been granted by Geralt, scrutinising every interaction the Witcher had with another and comparing it to how he had been with Jaskier.

There was a great difference between the time before Yennefer and the time after, the incident with the djinn a clear line drawn in the sands of time that defined where things had started to cloud over and though the ghost of pain had tried to flutter to the surface Jaskier had pushed it down and continued on, ripping apart the years in search of an answer that he was sure he already knew.

The weeks at Kaer Morhen were the most difficult to untangle, Geralt’s own emotions so over the place that Jaskier had struggled to make any sort of sense out of his actions. Jaskier had carried on though, carefully unpicking each moment, every emotion, every word uttered and slowly but surely Jaskier had made sense of it all, an understanding settling over him. Oh so that had been what Geralt had been trying to do in his own bull headed and emotionally stunted way.

At that point Jaskier had let his own emotions filter back in, ready to finally experience everything he had been putting off. One at a time he let them consuming him, feeling each one to the point his body ached with it. Pain. Loss. Anger. Longing. Abandonment. Fear. Lust. Guilt. Love. He let each one run its course, burning brightly until it settled inside of him. Though it hurt it was easier somehow, having already made sense of the memories and actions that accompanied the emotions.

Jaskier had opened his eyes then, taking a deep breath, feeling calm and sure of not only his feelings but Geralt’s as well. He knew without any shadow of a doubt that he loved Geralt and would carry on doing so until he faded from this world but now he was also certain in the fact that the Witcher returned his feelings with the same intensity that Jaskier felt for him. It hadn’t been a sudden realisation but a grade build up of everything until it had sat unmoving and solid in his mind and heart.

With that new certainty Jaskier had risen from his almost sleep like trance, lute in hand and returned to the land of men, ready to carry on with his duties as Eros only to find a year had passed whilst he worked through his feelings for Geralt. It had been a shock at first, Jaskier not even having noticed that passage of time but it was not the first time something like this had happened and he doubted it would be the last.

He did not seek Geralt out despite the the lost time. Though he was reassured of the Witcher’s feelings it didn’t not change the fact that he had hurt Jaskier and had gone about fixing it in completely the wrong way. He needed time still, wasn’t quite ready to see Geralt at the moment. He had meant what he had said to Ciri, the heart was a fragile thing and when the trust you had in someone who was dear to you broke it took time to rebuild it. He had asked Geralt for time and he could only hope the Witcher would grant him it, understand that though there was love between them it would be a slow road to rebuilding what had been lost between them.

Jaskier instead travelled, reacquainting himself with the world of men and all the emotions that came with them. It had been easy, slipping back into old habits and pretending to be just like them. He sang ballads of love and dirty limericks at taverns and inns across the world, not just the continent. Love and lust bloomed wherever he went, Jaskier picking at the strings of affection that connected two souls and strengthening their bonds or if needed loosening them. 

It was a simple existence but Jaskier welcomed it, uncomplicated and easy as it was. He still took lovers, his nature almost demanding it of him, though not nearly as many as had been taking before the dragon hunt. Man or women, rich or poor, bound in a loveless marriage or single Jaskier did not discriminate. Though when it came to taking a male lover Jaskier always picked one who looked nothing like Geralt. He loved the Witcher and it would be an ugly and twisted thing to try to fill such need with another. He owed the man more than that and he would not sully his memory with such an act.

For the most part life was good, if not a little lonely at times but when he found himself losing interest in his current path Yennefer always welcomed him to whatever stately home she had taken over. Not necessarily with open arms but always a playful scathing comment and teasing smile that Jaskier always returned in kind. Jaskier had lived a long and varied life but the strange friendship he had struck up with Yennefer was by far one of the oddest things to have happened to him.

He had been right, when they weren’t being jealous of one another and fighting over Geralt’s affections they got along quite pleasantly. They would sit in taverns, drinking expensive wines and gossiping like two old maids or huddle together at the side of lavish dances of the rich and affluent, Jaskier informing Yennefer who was in love with who, who were fucking and who had had their hearts broken whilst Yennefer offered a scathing and humorous commentary. It was always fun and he liked having someone who knew what he was, what he was truly capable of. He had never revealed himself to anyone before but he found himself glad that he had, even if his hand had been forced.

They didn’t speak of Geralt, not the first few times anyway but after the fifth or sixth time Jaskier had turned up Yennefer had started to slip little bits about him in to conversation, acting as if it was just casual conversation even though Jaskier stiffened every time the Witcher’s name was mentioned. 

_“Geralt was here just last week, tracking a werwolf”._

_“I saw Geralt on the road to Novigrad, seemed well enough though I set him up in an inn for a few days. Smelt like he had been rolling around in horse shit”._

_“Geralt stopped by on his way to Kaer Morhen. He was looking forward to seeing Ciri again. Had this god awful looking cloak with him for her. I felt sorry the poor child would be forced to wear such a thing so I had to do something”_

On and on it went and as the years rolled by Jaskier found himself asking after the Witcher, soaking up every detail he could get. Yennefer would tell him, answering every question he had and afterwards she would always tell Jaskier he could just ask Geralt himself and Jaskier would smile at her. “Not yet but soon” he would always answer. For the moment it was enough to know the man was still alive, still breathing though Jaskier suspected he would feel it if Geralt were ever to die.

Sometimes Ciri would be there and Jaskier would light up at seeing the princess, gushing to her about how beautiful she was getting as she grew into a charming yet frighteningly powerful women. She would spend hours telling him about everything that she had done since seeing him last and Jaskier would return the favour. Though when she had been young his stories had been drastically dulled down for her child like delicacies but as she got older his stories got rather salacious and Yennefer had had to remind him more than once that whatever he said to Ciri would end up getting back to Geralt and Jaskier had quickly tried to back track, blushing and stuttering with Yennefer laughing in the back ground.

Jaskier often found himself drifting back to Yennefer at least twice a year though admittedly it was close to five of six times. At some point Jaskier being a God of love and lust became some sort of joke between the two of them, Yennefer trying to get him to commit to some rather improper things and Jaskier just laughing it of and telling her he had already done it so she had to try harder. As always she took that as a challenge and one year when Jaskier arrived at a pre-arranged catch up he found himself in the middle of a rather rumbustious orgy and all in his honour.

Yennefer had been so proud of herself, sauntering up to Jaskier with a wide smirk as he stood there, mouth hanging open and the waves of lust and love crashing into him and he had felt like he would drown in it. She had flung her arms over Jaskier’s shoulders, placing a lingering kiss on his cheek and wishing him a happy and joyous birthday even though it was most certainly not the date of his creation. It had been almost impossible to resist, his Godly name sighed and moaned, each climax an offering to him and his power had swelled. People rarely spoke his name and he never asked a partner to do so but there was power in a name and to have so many calling to him was euphoric. 

He had indulged that day, well days actually, letting his power fill the room and drive everyone’s desires higher. One person bled into another and he took his fill almost continuously from those who came crawling to him, begging for his touch, his kiss, his cock. It had been five days before Jaskier had stopped, he and Yennefer collapsed next to each other on a pile of furs and cushions whilst the others left. They had been naked but covered, Yennefer breathing heavily as she made some sort of quip about that being what sex with a God was like. He had quickly informed her it wasn’t though if she truly wanted to know he could go again and again and again, glad to let her take her fill.

It wasn’t an offer he had made lightly, the two of them having joked about it a few times over the years and he had watched as she considered it, had tasted her desire for it on his tongue as he had licked his lips. In the end though she had declined his offer. “Tempting, truly but I couldn’t do that to a friend”. Jaskier had understood that, knew that taking earthly pleasures in other people wouldn’t be and issue for Geralt, he would understand but Yennefer was different. She was a friend, close to him and it would probably hurt to know that Jaskier and Yennefer had fucked, even though it would have just been that.

Jaskier didn’t visit for a while after that, going home and spending his days sitting by the golden river amongst the flowers and just singing, strumming away on his lute. Yennefer though held one of her little risqué parties every year in his name. Always in the middle of summer and Jaskier always felt his body thrum as his name was called out reaching him as a whisper on the wind no matter where in the world he was. It always made him smile, there love and arousal thrumming under his veins and making him feel refreshed, powerful. It was during one of these times that Jaskier saw Geralt for the first time since Kaer Morhen, five years since then to be exact.

It had been rather unexpected, Jaskier strolling down the dirt road to Lettenhove, strumming on his lute and singing to himself a rather flirtatious little ditty about a young lord and the baker’s daughter. He had felt Geralt before he had seen him, a thumping in his chest that wasn’t his. He had stopped, words dying on his lips as he looked up to find the Witcher at the other end of this particular stretch of road, sat astride his horse and staring back at Jaskier like he was a mirage. They had remained still for long moments, the birds singing in the trees and the gentle summer breeze ruffling their hair.

As Jaskier stood there he was hit by how much he had missed Geralt. He had always been aware of how much he had missed him but it had always been an ache at the back of his mind, a constant feeling that he had become accustomed to. But now that Jaskier could actually see him it came rushing to the forefront, an insistent need to go up and touch him, kiss him, love him but it wasn’t time, not yet. Jaskier could feel it, a certainty that if he fell into the Witcher’s arms now things would crack and splinter somewhen in the years to come. They still needed time, needed to rebuild their bond one brick at a time.

So instead he had carried on walking, heading towards Geralt who stayed unmoving. “Hello Geralt” he had said simply when he came to a stop next to Roach, the horse butting her head gently into Jaskier’s shoulder and getting a soft laugh from the bard as he gently stoked along her snout. “Jaskier”. His name had been nothing but a breathily whisper on the Witcher’s lips, the relief and longing that one word held enough to have Jaskier looking up, smiling fondly at his Witcher.

He had barely aged a day, his golden eyes wide as he looked down at Jaskier, unsure yet desperate. He could feel Geralt’s love for him, those red strings that connected two hearts visible to Jaskier for the first time in a long time. “It is good to see you dear heart”. He had meant it and the way Geralt had sucked in a deep breath, his eyes going impossibly wider as if he had been expecting Jaskier to say something else was worth the admission. Jaskier had said nothing else, patting Roach once more on her neck before continuing on his way, bringing his lute back round and continued singing. Geralt didn’t say anything, didn’t call after him or try and follow, but Jaskier had felt his gaze on him, warm and comforting until the road twisted and he was finally out of the Witcher’s sight. The feeling stayed with him though and Jaskier found himself still smiling days latter.

After that small exchange the two of them seemed to gravitate towards one another. Jaskier didn’t seek the Witcher out and from the look of surprise Geralt would always have on his face when he caught sight of Jaskier let the bard know that it wasn’t intentional on his part either. Jaskier would suspect destiny having something to do with it but after the fifth time in as many months Jaskier had gone to confront her about it and the Goddess had sworn that it had nothing to do with her, suggesting it was of his own doing, his magic that bound hearts doing what it was supposed to and keeping them close to one another.

Their encounters started of brief, Jaskier and Geralt exchanging a few words of greeting then moving on their way. They never asked where the other was going or where they had been, the two of them getting reacquainted with the idea of having the other close by but as the case had been with Yennefer, Jaskier soon found their interactions getting longer. It started gradually, the words exchanged between them growing in both number and importance. The idle chatter and polite conversations giving way to the two of them exchanging tales of what they had been up to in the space between meetings. True to form Geralt spoke less then Jaskier did but he still spoke more than he would have before all this and it filled Jaskier with a fondness to know the Witcher was trying, just for him.

They came across each other in taverns and inns where they would take up residence at a table in the back, drinking the finest ale the place had to offer whilst just enjoying the others company. Sometimes they would suddenly find themselves face to face on roads between towns, heading in different directions but on more than one occasion Jaskier had found himself walking back the way he had come, chattering away happily to Geralt as he sat astride Roach and listened offering the odd comment and grunt.

At some point they seemed to grow comfortable enough with the other to reminisce about their past travels. It had been a simple slip of the tongue the first time, Geralt bringing up one of the many times Jaskier hadn’t listened to him and almost gotten himself eaten. The Witcher had tensed as he realised what he had said but Jaskier had just laughed, reminding Geralt that though it had seemed careless to the Witcher he had actually been quite safe. The man’s shoulders had eased at that, gruffly calling Jaskier a fool of a God as he drunk from his tankard.

Something had eased then between them, a tension that had been lurking underneath their skins disappearing and Jaskier had watched, a wide smile on his lips and a hope in his heart as those red strings curled out towards the other, the ends almost meeting. Soon Jaskier had thought. There were still conversations they needed to have, wrongs that needed righting but they were getting there, closer and closer to being bound as one. 

It was around this time that the touching started. Jaskier placing a hand on Geralt’s shoulder, his arm brushing the Witcher’s thigh as he walked next to him whilst he rode, their fingers brushing together as one handed a drink to the other. It was simple touches, innocent and fleeting but with each press and every lingering touch it stoked the fire in Jaskier’s belly and he could feel it doing the same to Geralt, his lust for Jaskier mixing with his own and often enough Jaskier would have to excuse himself for a few weeks or months to let it pass. It only got worse though when Geralt started touching him back. A large hand on the small of his back, his nose nudging at Jaskier’s neck as he breathed in the bards scent, a strong arm wrapping around Jaskier’s waist to pull him from harm’s way when he appeared in the middle of a fight.

It had all been building, a tension between them that left the air sparking. Jaskier knew Geralt could smell his arousal and Geralt knew that Jaskier could feel his lust. It left them both on edge and it became a battle for the two of them to restrain themselves before they did something that could interfere with the re-establishing of their bond but it was getting hard and hard to resist every time they came across each other. It didn’t help that Jaskier hadn’t been able to satisfy his nature, the idea of touching anyone other than Geralt making him feel sick and his skin itch. It often resulted in his desire and frustration to come tumbling off of him and effecting those around him and on more than one occasion Jaskier had accidently started an orgy as he had sat and thought about Geralt.

He knew the Witcher was getting frustrated as well, Yen having not been too subtle about it the last time he had visited her. It’s why he was surprised something like this hadn’t happened before.

Outside of Yennefer’s yearly orgies in his honour Jaskier’s true name wasn’t really spoken in prayer, as an offering of pleasure. It’s why it had come as quite the shock when one cold and rainy autumn night he had felt the call, his true name moaned gruffly on the wind and sending a shiver of want down his spine. He had been moving without really thinking, letting the call of his name pull him from his home and towards his offering without stopping to consider who it could be that he would come across. The moment he appeared in the fire lit room Jaskier had known that he had potentially made a grave mistake not checking first.

Geralt was in a bath, his back to Jaskier who stood at the other side of the room. Geralt knew he was there, his body tensing and the room full of the Witcher’s laboured breathing and the crackle of the flames. Jaskier had been far enough back that he couldn’t see much other than Geralt’s back and his knees from where he had his feet braced against the other side of the bath. His hair had been pulled from its tie, gleaming silver in the light of the fire and the small drops of water that still clung to his skin sparkling like jewels. He had one arm sung across the edge of the bath, muscles straining as his hand tightened on the wood but his other arm was unseen, though Jaskier could guess when it was from the heavy feeling of lust that filled the room.

Jaskier had licked at his lips, his own pulse racing as his cock had stiffened and he had cracked with the taste of earth and leather and want on his tongue. “Don’t stop”. His voice had been nothing but a whisper and as the seconds had ticked by Jaskier began to panic slightly, his desire waning when faced with the fact he had made a mistake but just as he had been about to stutter out an apology and make a quick escape a low and long moan had sounded through the room along with the sound of water sloshing.

It had taken every ounce of self-control to stay by the door, to keep from touching his Witcher or himself but he had managed it, somehow. Jaskier let Geralt lust fill him, memorising every moan and grunt, every hitch of his breath and the way the muscles in his shoulder moved with every tug and caress the Witcher granted himself. It was torture but by the God’s Jaskier couldn’t get enough, hungry for every sound and sensation. He had let his power reach out, caressing along Geralt’s heated skin and stoking the flames of his desire, watching with rapt attention as he had tipped his head back and moaned loudly. “Say my name” he had demanded and Geralt had complied instantly, moaning his chosen name but that wasn’t what Jaskier had wanted, not now, not as he fed of the love and lust that was growing and growing with every stroke of the Witcher’s large hand along his cock.

“My true name Witcher. Give me my offering” he had growled, to lost in the moment to notice the red glow coming from his chest or the answering one on Geralt. “Eros!” he had cried as he came, his voice broken and desperate and Jaskier had seen stars, Geralt’s pleasure so strong that it had wrapped around Jaskier and left him spent and trembling against the door, gasping for breath he didn’t need.

The sound of their heavy breathing filled the room. There was the tension again, both of them waiting for the other to make the first move. It was only as he stood staring at the back of the Witcher’s head that he noticed the thin red string that stretched from his own heart and all the way to Geralt’s, binding there two hearts together.

If Jaskier was being honest he panicked a little, suddenly feeling out of his depth. Bonded, they were bonded, if only slightly and Jaskier hadn’t even noticed it happening. It wasn’t the first time he had answered a prayer though so he had slipped back into routine, informing Geralt that his offering had been accepted and bestowing upon him Jaskier’s blessing that his love be true and strong and the sex fantastic before turning tail and running back to his gilded halls before Geralt had a chance to even turn and look at him let alone say his name.

Jaskier had paced, tugging at his hair and cursing his poor impulse control and then the fact that he had just upped and left without even allowing Geralt to look at him. It had been silly of him, foolish even and he had waited with baited breath to feel their bond go taut and snap but the moment never came. If anything it seemed to go stronger, Jaskier becoming more aware of the man. It was like he could feel Geralt’s heart beating steadily in his chest alongside his own. It had been a little concerning at first but as Jaskier had sat there his hand pressed over his chest he had felt content and whole, like up until this point something had been missing.

So he had pulled himself together and gone to find Geralt. It hadn’t been that hard, Jaskier following their bond until he stood before the other man. They were in the middle of some forest, the night dark and thick around them. Geralt was sat on a log, sharpening a blade by the light of the fire that crackled between them. He didn’t look up at Jaskier but the bard noticed the way his shoulders stiffened slightly, his hands faltering for just a second before he wordlessly continued on with his task.

Jaskier didn’t really know how much time had passed since the incident at the inn, not having really kept track of time but when he laid eyes of Geralt he knew that it must have been at least a couple of weeks if not a month or so. He looked tired and dirty, the faint smell of death and guts about him and Jaskier had to wonder if he had even set foot in an inn since that night or if he had been living out in the wild like some savage beast the whole time.

Jaskier had tried to make small talk to start with, odd little comments about the night being lovely despite the cold and how peaceful it all seemed but Geralt had only answered in grunts and humms that had quickly put an end to Jaskier’s pointless rambling. Unsure what to do Jaskier had sunk to the forest floor, hugging his knees to his chest and just listed as Geralt continued to sharpen and clean his swords and stared into the flames.

He wasn’t sure what it was that made him start talking, probably his pathological need to fill even the slightest suggestion of silence. He started at the beginning, telling Geralt about how he came to existence, being told her purpose, the first hearts he bound, the first fuck he had. Centuries worth of life came tumbling from his lips, painting a picture of a relatively young God, naive and idealistic who wanted to do nothing but spread love and lust across the world. It hadn’t always gone his way though and the first time he had learnt what heartbreak was had made him mature considerably.

He glossed over details though he made a conscious effort to not keep anything from Geralt. He told him of his home, gilded halls in the middle of a field of sweet green grass and wildflowers with a golden river that sparkled with life. He spoke of some of the other God’s, if they were friend or foe and how in his younger years he had caused quite the scandal when he had fallen into bed with the sun God and also his mischievous younger brother. He had told Geralt that it was the Sun God he had got his love for music from, his first lute having been a gift from the other God and his ability to travel so freely between realms from his younger brother. 

He told him that the Sun God had been angry at him the first day they had met, his performance made bad deliberately as a form of punishment. Jaskier told him everything from how he had been curious to see how the Witcher would get out of the situation with the elves, it was why he hadn’t done anything but he reassured Geralt that if for a second he had though the Witcher would be killed he would have gotten them out. Jaskier followed the story of their time together, weaving in details that Geralt had missed believing him human. Jaskier apologised for the djinn, knowing it was at least partly his fault that Geralt had ended up bound with Yennefer but it would have happened regardless, one way or another. Destiny had a plan for him and Yennefer and Jaskier interfering could have only had made things worse for all of them in the long run. 

He told Geralt of the moment he knew he was in love with him, how happy he had been in that moment, even more so when he had felt Geralt starting to return his feelings. He spoke of the pain of having to let him go to Yennefer but knowing he had no choice and how he had clung onto the fact that before her there had been something between them and the hope that it would remain and that after destiny was satisfied Jaskier might get the chance to try again.

The hardest part to get through was the mountain, Jaskier’s heart aching at the reminder but he had continued on, not shying away from the details because if this was to work Jaskier need to be honest, as did Geralt and this was the first steps towards that. He didn’t hide any of the details, told Geralt exactly how it had felt and what he had done afterwards, the damage he had caused to a remote corner of the continent.

He spoke of how angry he had gotten when Geralt had offered himself up as payment, the emotion seeping into his voice despite his best efforts not to. Jaskier told him of the men and women he had killed in his anger and how it still haunted him that he had done such a thing. It was a sour subject and Jaskier imagined it would be that way for a while. He called the Witcher out for all his brooding and ill-advised attempts at trying to apologies with gifts whilst also trying to woo him with them at the same time because “honestly Geralt as much as I liked them it was rather too much too soon. I mean what exactly did you think was going to happen? I know I’m a sentimental fool at times but even I have some standers”. 

Geralt listened to all of it, never saying a word and just letting Jaskier get it all out there. It was cathartic, finally able to say everything he had wanted to over the years, to lay himself bare at the Witcher’s feet. He made no secret of the fact that he was in love with Geralt, probably said it a hundred times over whilst he had told his tail. Over the centuries Jaskier had told a lot of people that he loved them and in that moment he did but this was different. With Geralt it was deeper, all consuming and burned brighter than a thousand suns and Jaskier told the other man as much, ending his tail with why he had run that night and why he had come back. “Because despite everything I love you my wolf and no matter what that fact will remain true until my name is long forgotten and the world has turned to dust”.

The silence stretched on after Jaskier had finished speaking, his declaration of eternal love hanging in the air above them like a guillotine. If it hadn’t been for the fact Jaskier could feel the love Geralt held for him, could see the sting that bound them, he would have thought he had royally cocked up somewhere but as it was he just stayed silent, watching and waiting for Geralt to process what he had been told and decide what it was he wanted to do now. No matter how Jaskier felt or what he wanted he would let the Witcher decide how they should move forward. Geralt loved him but he had fallen in love with a fragile and silly human, not the powerful and by all rights dangerous God that now sat before him.

Seconds turned to minuets and minuets to hours and Jaskier thought that they might be here for days before Geralt spoke, if he spoke at all but just as the sun began to peak above the horizon Geralt’s lips parted, his rough and unused voice tumbling forth to fill the silence. He didn’t speak as much as Jaskier had, the bard having gone on for hours and hours but it was still more than Jaskier had ever heard him to speak in one go.

He spoke briefly of his mother’s abandonment, of how he had become a Witcher. They were painful memories, ones that Geralt didn’t want to dwell on and Jaskier would not press. He could only hope that Geralt would trust him enough one day to share with him his darkest and ugliest parts. Jaskier loved him regardless and that would never change. Life on the Path was hard and unforgiving and Geralt summarised it all with a simple “I hunted, got paid, moved on to the next piss poor town”, a vast understatement in Jaskier’s opinion but Geralt wasn’t one for excessive words so he granted him that lacklustre appraisal.

He had never known what had truly happened to earn Geralt the title of The Butcher of Blaviken, just the rumours of a Witcher going crazy and murdering a host of innocent town’s people. Jaskier had been sceptical when he first heard them and downright dismissive of it when he had met Geralt but the truth was so much sadder than he had ever though it to be. He had taken the chance, Geralt staring unseeing at the long since extinguished fire, moving slowly to sit down next to him and gently taking one of his larger hands in both of his. He hadn’t said anything, just squeezed gently to let the man know that it was okay and hopefully, that his story didn’t change how Jaskier felt about him.

Things seemed to come easier after that, the Witcher even made jokes about how annoying Jaskier had been when they first meet and how shit his pickup line had been. He had smiled ever so softly at Jaskier and he had returned it, nudging the larger man playfully with his shoulder. Jaskier listened intently to what Geralt had to say, taking in every detail as he stumbled through explaining his actions. He wasn’t that good with words, sometimes struggling to find the right one to use but Jaskier thought he could understand the gist of it.

At some point they had slipped off the log, Jaskier lounging against Geralt’s side, head resting on his chest and the Witcher’s arm draped over his shoulder, their hands still clasped. It was comforting, being so close, not only hearing but being able to feel Geralt’s heart beating, the low growl of his voice rumbling in his chest. When they got to the mountain Jaskier had turned his face into Geralt’s chest, clutching at his shirt and reminding himself that though it still hurt to hear those words again they were not true. Geralt said as much, voice catching as he apologised, taking it all back and promising that though he may not be able to contain his anger always he would never set out to hurt Jaskier on purpose, to drive him away again.

Though justified in his actions to leave and stay gone after the mountain Jaskier couldn’t help but feel a little guilt listening to what Geralt had gone through whilst looking for him. The fear that Jaskier had died had been real for Geralt, had left him terrified and desperate and Jaskier hatted that he had made the other man worry in such a way. Geralt had clung to him, his arms wrapping tightly around Jaskier as he spoke about his fear of never seeing him alive and how desperate he had been in his search and Jaskier had let him, clinging back just as tightly in hopes that it would convey that Jaskier would never leave him like that again.

When Geralt got to the whole summoning debacle and everything that had come after Jaskier had had to bite his tongue and try and keep his anger at bay. He was glad to know that it hadn’t been for Yennefer’s benefit Geralt had offered himself up but his own twisted desire to be with Jaskier and make amends for what he had done. Jaskier though his reasoning’s were a load of horse shit, the Witcher stupid for even considering entering such a contract with a God, especially one who had been angry and ready to kill someone. He had already told Geralt all this though so he kept it to himself for now, giving Geralt the same opportunity to get all of his feelings and reason out without any interruption from the other.

Geralt told him that it had hurt, hearing from Yennefer and Ciri about Jaskier and all he was up to but he had understood why Jaskier had needed time. Admitted that they both did to work out what they wanted because like he had told Ciri all those years ago the heart was fragile, something precious and fleeting to be protected and Geralt had had to learn how to do that, not only with Jaskier’s heart but his own as well.

When all was said and done Geralt had eased Jaskier off him, the sun now high in the sky though grey clouds threatened to roll in and rain down on them at any moment. Jaskier had watched with confusion as Geralt had gone to one of the saddle bags, rummaging through it until he found what he was after. Jaskier had gasped when Geralt handed him the faded envelope and his own hands had shaken as he pulled the letter out, the old pages starting to tear from how many times they had been handled. The pages were stained from his tears, the ink having run and faded in other places from exposure or having been touched too much. From between the folded pages a dried dandelion had fallen into Jaskier’s lap and he knew it was the one he had left behind on Geralt’s bed. It warmed his heart and brought tears to his eyes to know that the hulking mass of a man had taken the time to press and preserve the delicate flower. Add to that the fact he had kept it and the letter safe after all these years and Jaskier was surprised he wasn’t a sobbing mess on the floor.

“No one’s ever loved my like that before, loved me at all. I…didn’t want to forget what it was like if you didn’t…if I never…” Jaskier took mercy on his poor Witcher then, his distress clear. Carefully he had put the letter and flower back into the envelope, magicing it back to the saddle bag so it wouldn’t get lost before going to Geralt.

He knew what he was trying to say. He wanted a reminder if Jaskier had never come back, if Geralt never saw him again, if he decided he didn’t love the Witcher enough to forgive him. It was heart breaking to think Geralt had thought Jaskier wouldn’t come back and as those earlier years dragged by Jaskier knew that he must have thought that was what was happening. He couldn’t allow that, not now not ever and he would do everything from now until eternity to make sure Geralt knew how much he loved him.

Jaskier had cupped his cheek gently with one hand, turning his head towards him as his other hand pressed over Geralt’s heart. He looked down at Jaskier with a sadness in his eyes, like his world was slipping through his fingers. Jaskier smiled, his voice quiet as he spoke yet full of all his love for the other man. “Oh my love, I would never leave you, not truly for you are my heart and what use is a God of love without his heart?”

They moved towards the other at the same time, eyes closing as their lips brushed together in a delicate kiss. Geralt’s lips were chapped and he still smelt like death and monster guts but he kissed back just as softly their lips moving gently and steadily. Jaskier could feel their bond solidify, his own heart rate slowing to match Geralt’s and he knew if he opened his eyes he would find their chest’s glowing as his magic took hold but he didn’t look, didn’t do anything other than kiss the man he loved.

They stayed close when they finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together and just breathing. Everything around them felt still, the world holding its breath to give them this moment. “I love you” Geralt had mumbled and Jaskier smiled, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck as the Witcher wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer. “And I you my heart. And I you”.

Jaskier started to travel with Geralt again after that, things much the same as they had been before but drastically different all the same.

It took some time for Geralt to get used to the fact that Jaskier was in fact not breakable and didn’t need to be protected, if anything it was the other way round though Jaskier wasn’t foolish enough to try and actually do that, well not any way Geralt would notice anyway. It took just as much time for Jaskier to keep his flirtations to just that. Geralt understood it was just his nature, considering who he was but he still got jealous and possessive and if someone got to personal he wasn’t above growling and snarling at them like some wild beast.

Geralt was nicer, more considerate and more open around Jaskier. One of his new favourite things was to sit by a roaring fire, Geralt’s head in his lap as he rested and Jaskier stroked his fingers though his hair, singing or humming gently. It was exhilarating and calming all at once and Jaskier wouldn’t swap those moments for anything else the world had to offer. Well almost anything else. His second favourite thing was Geralt’s need to touch. He would crowed into Jaskier’s space, pressing his body against his in busy market or crowded taverns. He would constantly be brushing against him, his hands touching his lower back or shoulders or wrists as if he was just checking to make sure he was still there.

And then there was the smelling. Jaskier had awoken many a time to Geralt’s arms wrapped around him, his chest pressed against Jaskier’s back and his nose buried in the crock of his neck or the hair at the back of his neck, just breathing him in. He had had asked him once what he was doing, Jaskier laughing as Geralt had hummed, pulling him closer and pressing more of his face against his neck. “You smell happy, content, like home” he had grumbled against his neck and oh hadn’t that been something. Jaskier’s smile had been so wide it had left his face aching for days after.

Things were not perfect though and it took time to learn each other, to work their new dynamic into their already existing one but neither of them minded the effort. Mistakes were made by both of them, neither of them having been in a relationship like this before but the anger never lasted. Whichever one was at fault always came back with their tail between their legs and an apology quick to follow and they were always forgiven.

They moved forward, literally and figuratively, forging a new life together and it was glorious.

The first time they had had sex was, well. Jaskier would have called it spectacular, soul shattering even though he suspected Geralt would have simply said it was good which was just an insult really, considering who Jaskier was. A Witcher’s stamina and Jaskier’s Godly prowess had resulted in a rather long night and day of almost non-stop fucking, both of them losing themselves to it. Jaskier maybe too much. He hadn’t even noticed he was letting his emotions get away from him, his and Geralt’s mixed lust flooding the small town they had been staying in and resulting in some rather rumbustious activities. Needless to say when they had emerged from their room and found the state the town was in Jaskier had been embarrassed beyond belief. He hadn’t lost control like that since he was a young God just discovering what his cock was for and how much he craved the pleasures of the flesh.

Geralt had found it far too amusing, even going as far to laugh as Jaskier had forced him from the inn and down the road, shouting his apologies as he went. The village had had a rather substantial population boost after their visit and Jaskier had refused to go anywhere near it for almost a decade. Yennefer had found it all terribly amusing as well, teasing Jaskier about it constantly as she simultaneously tried to get them to come to one of her orgies, or Jaskier’s birthday celebration as she had taken to call it. Geralt had made it clear that they would never attend one but he didn’t complain about reaping the benefits of having so many people crying out Jaskier’s true name, Jaskier’s normal rather high sex drive only getting worse over however long his celebration lasted.

Life was good, all things considered and though the road to get there had been hard and full of pain Jaskier didn’t think he would go back and change it if given the chance.

As he stood watching the sun set from Geralt’s room at Kaer Morhen Jaskier felt himself a lucky man, and even grater blessed God to be surrounded by such love. In all his years on this Earth Jaskier had never felt the way he did now. He was happy and content, truly at peace and he wished he could bottle that feeling and keep it with him forever so he would never forget this moment.

Arms wrapped around his waist, a large chest pressing against his back as lips trailed light kisses along his neck. “Beautiful” Geralt had said and Jaskier knew he was not talking about the sun set. Jaskier had just hummed, tipping his head to the side and giving him better access to his neck. They had stayed that way for a long time, until the sun had set and the reds and yellows had changed to dark blues and backs, both of them content to simply be with the other. It did not last though, Ciri flinging the door open with little regard for what could be happening in the room beyond.

“Would you two stop being so mushy and hurry up before Lambert eats all the food”. She had disappeared as quickly as she had come, leaving the door wide open. “Damned child has no manners” Geralt grumbled and Jaskier had laughed at that, carefully extracting himself from Geralt’s hold. “I think at forty years of age you should probably stop referring to her as child now my love”. Geralt had just grumbled, mumbling something about her still being a child when compared to their ages and though the Witcher was correct in that sense Jaskier wasn’t about to tell him that.

Geralt had headed towards the door but when Jaskier made no move to follow he had turned to him with confusion but Jaskier had just ushered him on, promising that he wouldn’t be far behind but he just needed a moment. Thankfully Geralt hadn’t pressed though he had frowned, watching Jaskier intently as he left.

When he was sure Geralt had gone Jaskier turned back to the window, sighing heavily. He curled his hand, rolling his wrist until his palm was facing up and a golden apple sat in his grasp. The gold skin glistened in the moon light, the smell of fresh and tart apple filling the room. It had been difficult to get, Jaskier having gotten dangerously close to losing a limb whilst doing so but it had been worth it. Would be worth it.

Geralt had never been to Jaskier’s home, no mortal had, they wouldn’t survive the journey. Yes Geralt was more than any mere mortal but Jaskier didn’t want to chance it but if he were to eat the golden apple they could come and go as they pleased, passing from this realm into his. Jaskier could show him his home amongst green fields and wildflowers as the never ending summer shone down around them. Jaskier wanted to share every part of himself with Geralt and that included where he was from but that wasn’t the only reason for getting the apple.

Geralt was getting older, slowly yes but he was still aging and though it would take centuries for him to become an old man and wither away he would still die, if a monster didn’t get him first. All the while Jaskier would stay young and youthful, never changing as time passed him by. He had destroyed a vast expanse of land and killed hundreds of people when he believed Geralt not to love him and it scared him what he would do the day Geralt passed from this world into the next. He loved Geralt more than life its self and he couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to have to live eons without him by his side. It had only been just over a decade since that fateful day in the woods where they had bound their hearts to one another and it wasn’t enough. No matter how long he had Geralt it would never be enough time but the apple could change that.

Yes eating the golden fruit would allow Geralt to pass into the realm of God’s but it came at a cost, only made possible by the fact the apple would grant the eater immortality.

He knew Geralt loved him, was devoted to him but he was well aware that their time was limited and the Witcher had reconciled with that fact because he thought there no other way but Jaskier knew differently. He rubbed the apple between his hands, frowning down at it. He knew what he wanted Geralt to say when he asked him but it was a lot to ask of any many, especially one that had lived a life like Geralt’s. So much pain and suffering marred his life and Jaskier didn’t wish to add to it. If Geralt took the apple Jaskier wanted to take him back to his realm, wanted to spend years, decades, centuries if he was being honest just showering the other man with his love and giving to him a luxury he had never known. Freedom. But Jaskier didn’t know if Geralt would see it that way.

He had time though, a year to be exact before the apple would lose its power and he would have to go and retrieve another. A year was nothing to him, a blink of an eye really but it would be long enough to decide if he would even ask Geralt to spend eternity with him. He wasn’t so naive to think it would be a rejection if Geralt said no, it would hurt but Jaskier would respect his choice and when the time came he would dig Geralt’s grave himself. He would pick somewhere truly beautiful, a field of wildflowers with a large tree to offer shade. Jaskier knew that he would spend forever there, protecting his heart until he to faded from existence and maybe if the God’s granted it they would be reunited in the great beyond, destined to spend eternity together amongst the stars.

“Jaskier?” So caught up in his own thoughts Jaskier hadn’t even noticed the time passing or Geralt coming to find him. Startled by the man’s sudden appearance he had spun round, eyes wide and golden apple cradled in both his hands and held out before him. “Geralt, what are you doing back here?” The Witcher frowned at him, taking a weary step into the room, his eyes taking in Jaskier’s red rimed eyes and the fruit he clutched. He could probably smell Jaskier’s sorrow, feeling his aching heart through there bond.

“I was worried. What’s that?” he jerked his head at the apple, golden eyes darting down to it before looking back up at Jaskier. “Ah, yes, well”. Jaskier sighed, looking down at the apple and seriously contemplating chucking it out the window and claiming it was nothing. Something about this seemed right though, had a hint of destiny about it and Jaskier wouldn’t let the chance pass him by. Pulling in a shaky breath Jaskier tried to calm his nerves, stepping forward and looking Geralt in the eyes. His heart raced, his mouth feeling dry but the words came out loud and clear, his voice not betraying his nerves.

“Geralt, I have something I need to ask you”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing and I mean nothing is ever going to make me change my mind about the fact Yen would gift Jaskier an orgy every year as a sign of her affection for him. He is the god of love and sex after all so what more could he ask for. 
> 
> And she is totally the one who tells Geralt about the name thing and how Jaskier draws power from people calling out his godly name whilst getting their rocks off and he totally wants to do something for Jaskier that is simply just giving him something and he’s thinking about the bard anyway so why not? But Yen forgets the part where Jaskier can hear him calling out his name, can feel his lust and love as Geralt chants Eros to the inn ceiling. 
> 
> He should feel ashamed when Jaskier turns up but he doesn’t, likes it even more that he is watching. The smell of Jaskier’s arousal and the frantic beating of his heart just make Geralt want more and more and he is willing to give Jaskier everything and anything. 
> 
> Years down the line Geralt still does it, groans Eros in Jaskier’s skin as they make love and growls it out in desperation as they fuck and Jaskier laps it up, loving that it’s Geralt calling out to him and things just get worse/better when Yen throws her yearly orgy’s, Jaskier becoming a horny mess and they fuck almost constantly, Jaskier letting go of all his control and fucking glowing gold like the god he is as he takes what he wants from Geralt and the Witcher just gives it freely because he loves him, worships the very ground he walks on and still can’t believe that this man, this god has chosen him and he will hold on tight for as long as Jaskier will have him.


End file.
